Never the Same Again
by ArabellaFaith
Summary: Professer Snape inadvertantly sees into Hermione's mind, discovering her worst memory and her best kept secret. When he confronts her, how will he be able to convince her that he can save her? Story form Snape's POV. Warnings inside, mature readers please.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi**_** everyone, this is the new story I've been dabbling in. Have no fear, I promise this will not interfere with my last updates on Learning to Live. This story has just taken my Muse hostage and wouldn't shut up until I got it all written down. Uptades will be coming fast, so never fear! Also, this story will be different from my others in that it gets intimate with some very dark subjects. I've dabbled in dark before, but never quite like this. If you're not sure this story is for you, see warnings below. And as always, Happy Reading!**_

_**WARNING-READ THIS FIRST! ~This story deals with very dark themes that may be inappropriate for some readers. Abuse, both sexual and emotional, death and addiction are all mentioned here. If you are not comfortable with such topics, you may not be happy with this story. **_

_She heard the steps behind her. Cowered further into the corner, praying that if she couldn't see him, then he couldn't see her. His hand landed hard on her shoulder, heavy and hot, so much bigger than her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he wasn't there. That she was all alone. His hand squeezed her shoulder and shook her. She looked up finally, cracked open her eyes but didn't look into his face. She couldn't look into his hard glare, couldn't stand to see the emotions there that turned her stomach. Instead she stared at his chest. The smears of dirt on his shirt that had become permanent stains. The buttons yellowed with age. She tried not to let her gaze lower to his trousers. To the bulge there. She knew what was coming. Knew that he would do what he wanted, no matter what she did. Should she fight? Cry? Deaden her limbs and pretend that it wasn't happening? She'd done them all, and none of them had stopped him before. He pulled her out of the corner and turned her to face him. She struggled against his hold, her body making the decision for her. Fight. She would fight, no matter how futile._

_She squirmed in his arms as he lifted her. Pushed against his chest and cried out for help. No one would come. They never did. He allowed her to struggle, let her try and fight him because he knew that he was so much stronger than her. That there wasn't anything she could do to stop him. He let her because it turned him on. And she knew it. So why couldn't she stop herself from fighting him?_

_He pulled her to his body, almost cradling her against him, pinning her arms. Then he started walking. Over to the bed. She fought with renewed strength, knowing what was coming. But still, he held her effortlessly. She started begging as he pushed her on the bed and removed her clothes. Pleading with him. He ignored her and removed his own. Her tears had no effect on him. Her sobs would not sway him. He climbed up her body and settled himself between her legs, his smile wide and triumphant. She still refused to look into his eyes. Instead she stared over his shoulder at the ceiling. Counted the specks on the tiles. Pretended they were stars. Pain pierced her as he started to move. She squeezed her eyes shut as it lanced through her, blocking out the room, the world. Trying to block out the pain as easily as she blocked out the sight of him._

_How long did it last? A minute? An hour? An eternity? Did time hold any meaning in hell? She continued to cry, to weep and beg for reprieve. Finally, it was over. He hugged her so tightly that she felt her air rush out in a painful exhale. He crushed her to him and put his lips next to her ear. "That was so good, baby. You're such a good girl. My good girl." _

SS

I pulled back in shock, in disgust, in utter horror. The honey brown eyes that I'd fallen inadvertently into stared back at me, wide with fear. Her lips parted, chest heaved as she struggled for air. I knew my own chest was rising just as sharply. The Potter boy pushed from behind her, glaring at me angrily. I ignored him.

"What the bloody hell was that?" I exclaimed. Shame burned in her cheeks and rage suffused me. Who had dared to touch her that way? Who would do such a thing to her? She'd looked so young in the memory... My stomach roiled and I knew my fists were shaking ever so slightly. I pushed them into the folds of my robes so that neither Potter nor Miss Granger would see them. Tears filled her eyes and suddenly I felt awful for my harsh question. She was obviously terrified of what I'd seen. Before I could say anything further, attempt to be even a little gentler in my probing, Potter pointed his wand in my face.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded. He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. She trembled and blinked back the sheen of moisture on her eyes. Brave, I'd give her that. Did Potter know about the memory I'd just seen? Had she told him? Had she told _anyone_? "You can't just use Legimens to get an answer out of me if I don't want to give you one! You can't just barge into people's heads like that!"

"Clearly," I drawled, my glacial stare turning to his outraged face, "I can, mister Potter. But never fear. The tales you spun to the Minister are safe for now. Miss Granger pushed into my path before I could get into your mind." I flicked my gaze back to her. She was taking deep breaths, composing herself as if nothing had happened. But oh, I knew something had happened. Something monstrous. And if the emotions I'd gathered from the memory were true, then it wasn't the first time, and probably not the last. My mind whirled at breakneck speed. An uncle? Family friend? One of her father's co workers? Who had done that to her?

"Stay out of people's heads, Snape," Potter growled. He turned to his friend. "Are you alright Hermione?" She took a deep breath that only shook a little before flashing Potter a weak smile.

"I'm fine, Harry. I'm great at Occlumancy, you know that. I was just surprised is all."

"Did he see anything you didn't want him to see? He's good at zoning in on your best and worst memories," he said with another glare at me. I stared unblinking at her wide eyes. Yes, Miss Granger, what will you tell Potter I saw? She swallowed hard and flashed a more reassuring smile at Harry.

"Of course not, Harry. It wasn't anything important."

I felt the urge to gape at her in shock, but of course did nothing of the sort. I merely narrowed my eyes at her. Nothing important? Was that the lie she expected Potter to believe? When her eyes were still glistening and her hands were still trembling? But Potter did believe it. He'd always been a dunderhead. He obviously couldn't see what was right in front of him. She was clearly in distress and fighting like hell to hide it. Potter was a moron. An obtuse moron. But then, if I hadn't just witnessed the memory myself, would I have noticed either? How closely did anyone really look at the young witch?

"Come on, Mione. Lets get back to the group." He took her arm and started to pull her away. I interrupted before they'd taken a single step.

"A word, Miss Granger?" I kept my voice tightly controlled, letting none of my anger and disgust seep into my tone. Her big eyes met mine and I fought to keep myself from falling into them again. I didn't want to know what other horrors festered in her psyche. She lifted her chin defiantly.

"Some other time, perhaps, Severus." The little chit spoke clearly, boldly. As if defying me to challenge her use of my given name. As if daring me to speak about what I'd just seen. She turned and started to walk away. Before I could give regard to my thoughts, I was at her side, drawn up to my full imposing height and snatched her wrist tightly. It felt almost childlike in its size, and I saw her quick intake of breath, felt the slight tremor of her hand. Unwilling to be demurred by those things, I held onto her and stared down at her.

"Without a doubt, Miss Granger," I said through clenched teeth. I tried to give my voice the silky menace it usually held but knew that my tone was too harsh, my emotions making the words too raw to pull the effect off. Then I released her wrist and pulled away as quickly as I'd come. I turned, stalking back through the door to the Great Hall, leaving the crowd behind.


	2. Chapter 2

SSHG

One year. One full year it had been. Since the final battle between the darkness and the light. One year since the Dark Lord fell. One year since I almost died and was brought back from the brink of death. I do not know who's idea it was to throw that atrocious sham of a party. To gather together all the members who fought for the side of good and pay homage to those who had fallen. I wouldn't even have gone if not for the fact that Minerva threatened to floo everyone into the dungeons for the gathering if I didn't at least show my face for a few minutes.

And of course, I'd shown up at just the right time to hear damn Potter explaining to one of his little friends that he'd spoken to the Minister on my behalf in the aftermath of the war in order to confirm my innocence. Of course I'd known that he had shared the knowledge contained in the memories I'd given him. I'd be rotting in Azkaban if he hadn't. But just _exactly _what he'd told, I wasn't privy to. And when I'd politely – alright, maybe not quite so politely- asked (demanded) that he tell me, the bloody prat refused me. So when I went to invade his mind for the answers, the stupid Granger girl had gotten in my way. Of course I didn't feel any guilt about attempting to penetrate his mind. The daft boy ought to have perfected the art of Occulemency long ago. If he'd spent more time learning and not dicking about in my own head, maybe he'd have been able to protect himself. But instead of Potter's malleable mind, I had landed in Miss Granger's memories. I shuddered. I would have rather suffered the humiliation of seeing Potter air my secret love for his mother to all and sundry a thousand times than witness what I'd seen in her mind.

I shook my head, attempting to clear it. It wasn't any of my business. Why should I care? She was a grown woman, a war heroine, and could bloody well handle herself. She'd looked young in the memory. Obviously it had been years ago. Surely she'd dealt with the event and all its repercussions. She'd probably read every book that existed on recovery and healing from trauma. So why did I care? Why was my heart still pounding with blood rage? Why was my jaw still clenched tight with fury?

Of course I'd never been able to stomach seeing a child hurt. The reign of the Carrows at Hogwarts had taken all of my considerable control to hide my disgust, even while trying to protect the students as best I could. Of course, I'd seen children killed by the Dark Lord's command. But I'd never seen one so young assaulted sexually. Of all the horrors I'd witnessed in my time as a spy, all the atrocities I'd had to watch and pretend to be indifferent to, I'd been spared seeing the rape of a child. Only to see it in the Great Hall of Hogwarts through the memories of a former student after the war had ended. My stomach roiled once more. Had it happened before, or after she'd come to Hogwarts?

No. I pushed the thought from my mind. I did not care. It was none of my concern. The _Golden Trio _was no longer in need of my protection, nor was her welfare my responsibility. I'd spent too many years of my life caring about everyone but myself. Protecting others with the knowledge that it would eventually lead to my demise. And now that I'd been given a reprieve, I refused to allow thoughts of Miss Granger and whatever tragedy haunted her to suffuse my mind. I was done chasing after others to save their hides. I was done _caring._

So why, as I swept down into the dungeons and into my rooms, could I not get the image of her terror out of my mind?

HH

Over the last year, all the renovations needed had been completed on Hogwarts. The school was officially reopening and accepting students once more. I wanted to retire away from public life. I wanted to go somewhere no one knew me and live out the rest of my days in anonymity. But I refused to hide. And of course, bloody Minerva had stepped down as Deputy Headmistress, and the ministry had insisted on offering me the job of Headmaster.

I'd refused the first dozen times they came to me with the idea. I wanted nothing to do with the school, the ministry, the world. But somehow, over time, the idea had grown on me. I'd spent so much of my life answering to others that the thought of being the one in charge, being master of not only my own destiny, but of an entire castle, appealed to me. I still think I would have ended up in a little cottage somewhere on a desert isle, if not for the blasted stories in the blasted Daily Prophet. The stories saying that I'd withdrawn from society in shame. The stories that under all my harsh exterior I was merely a soft romantic and couldn't deal with the world now that the war was over. I didn't have much left, but I did have my pride.

Pride that had gotten me through twenty years as a spy, pride that had seen me through my time at Hogwarts as a student. Holding my head up and sneering down at anyone who dared malign me in any way. I simply could not allow them to foist this bleeding heart persona upon me. Yes I had spent more than a decade in the service of a madman (two, depending on the day) to protect the son of the woman I'd once loved. But I wasn't a ninny. Nor was I some romantic hero as the world seemed to want to make me into. And my bloody fucking pride had made me accept job.

Now, students would be once more studying in the castle, including the seventh years who would return to finish their NEWTS. All of the teachers, myself included, had offered to privately tutor those who hadn't finished their education because of the war and wished to complete their tests. There hadn't been that many who'd been unable to take their NEWTS that year, and even fewer who decided to return, but among those was Miss Hermione Granger.

Of course she would want to return and take her tests. Potter and that twit Weasley knew that they could get excellent jobs, really any jobs they wanted, based solely on their performance in the war. Miss Granger certainly could have as well. But of course, she had asked to be allowed to finish her education. Never mind that she was already smarter than most of the members of the Ministry. Never mind that the results of her tests were insipid when compared to her real life experience in the face of battle. Never mind that her return would clearly disrupt my careful stance of non-caring. Because as I slammed the door to my quarters behind me, I realized to my horror, that I did care. The little wench had gotten under my skin. I had to know what had happened, and that she'd dealt with the ramifications properly. To know that the bastard had been properly punished. I was hooked.

_**Well what did you think? Don't forget to let me know ; ) More will be coming tomorrow!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**As promised, their coming fast! Enjoy the chapter! And don't forget to review when you're done, I love hearing from you all ; )**_

SS

Despite the fact that Slughorn had been my own potions teacher, and while he was batty and woefully inept at maintaining boundaries with his students he was obviously a decent professor, I felt no qualms about informing him that Miss Granger was to be one of the students I tutored myself. The arrogant old biddy had chaffed at the thought that the famous Hermione Granger wouldn't be under his private tutelage, but deferred to my authority as Headmaster. I didn't leave him much choice in the matter. Because a week after seeing into her mind, I was irritable, short tempered and in a constantly foul mood from wanting to know just what had happened to the insufferable Miss Granger. I wanted the matter to be done and over with. She was a bright witch. She had probably healed long ago from the emotional damage of the attack. Put it behind her and made a full recovery. It was probably a distant memory for her and it had merely been my bad luck to slam into it. But deep down, I knew that if she'd put it firmly behind her, the memory wouldn't have been so sharp, so painful. So I counted down the days until she would be closed into my office and could not escape my questions.

When the day finally arrived, I paced the floor behind my desk, waiting. I checked the time once, twice, a third time. I snarled into the empty room at her tardiness. Would she skip her tutoring session? Was she really that much of a coward that she wouldn't face me?

The door clicked open and I stopped my pacing instantly. I stilled, drew myself up to my full height, and put on my most stony expression. I refused to let her know that I'd given her even a second thought. She kept her head down as she entered, fussing with her bag and then staring at her toes as if they would give her the answers to her potions NEWTS. I waited. Silently. I expected more from the brains of the Golden bloody Trio than for her to hide her face and demure.

As if she sensed this, her head slowly rose. Her eyes met mine, whiskey brown to blackish green. She took a deep breath and practically sparked defiance at me. Ah, there it was. There was the spirit I was expecting to have pulled her through. There was the insufferable know it all I'd come to know. Gone was the trembling child who'd suffered untold horrors. Standing before me was the powerful, brilliant woman who'd faced the Dark Lord and prevailed. I was counting on that strength. Because if I saw her as that terrified child, I feared my icy mask would fall. My indifference would crack. And I refused to show weakness. To show I cared any more than a sane, uninvolved adult might. To show that I was not any more interested in her well being than a stranger would be.

Because the truth was too much for me to bear anyone knowing. That somehow, over the years, I'd developed a _fondness_ for the woman. For the trio. For the students who'd worked with the Order in the thick of battle. Of course, I despised them all. But I despise everyone. I sneered at their accomplishments, ridiculed their success, and secretly felt a sliver of pride. I detested them slightly _less_ than everyone else. That was more like it. And since she was one of those who I had some small spark of tolerance for, I could not seem to rest until I knew that she was alright. But I would never show her that.

"Severus," she greeted clearly with a very slight inclination of her head. My lip curled into a familiar sneer.

"Headmaster Snape," I hissed at her. "You will address me respectfully, or not at all, Miss Granger." I felt an instant stab of anger at myself that I'd already snapped at her, but smothered it. Familiarity was a dangerous precedent to set. It was best that we maintained the distance appropriate to both our stations.

"Then I shall refrain from addressing you at all," she said confidently. "If you will be so kind as to inform Professor Slughorn that you will be transferring my tutoring to him-"

"You will not be studying under Slughorn," I interrupted her. Her eyes widened in surprise. "If you cannot learn to curb your insolence, I will find other...ramifications." I heard her sharp intake of breath and smiled to myself. Fear had always been my ally. I could always count on it to control and teach.

Then a cold wave washed through me as I thought about what fears her mind had likely jumped to. Fuck it all. I'd never touched the girl. That had bloody well not have been what she'd thought of. I needed to learn that she was perfectly healthy of body and mind and put the images I'd seen out of my head. Already they were clouding my judgment and making me second guess myself. Was I supposed to walk on eggshells around her because of what I knew? I'd been teaching her for six years and had never felt guilt about instilling shame or fear in her. I wanted that indifference back.

"Will you be deducting house points? Assigning me detentions? Threatening to let Filtch hang me up by my thumbs? Because I assure you, I will not abide any of those things."

"So much fire, Miss Granger. Surely you realize that you are disrespecting not only a professor who controls the future of your NEWTS, but the headmaster of your school? Do you really care so little for your academic future?"

"You won't fail me simply because I refuse to use your title."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Though outrage sang in my veins at her blatant disrespect, I managed to keep my voice steady and low, my trademark drawl that signaled more danger than any snarl could.

"You cannot pretend to be the heartless bastard any more, Severus." She lifted her chin to me and stared unblinking into my eyes. "I know better. You are cold and coarse and demanding, but you aren't cruel."

"Then what, pray tell," I managed in my most menacing whisper, "has driven you to treat me so insolently?" Her reaction was exactly as I'd imagined it would be. Her cheeks heated, her head bowed. She twisted her hands in her lap.

"You shouldn't go around pushing into other people's minds!"

"You should learn better than to step between a wizard's wand and his victim," I returned.

"Memories are private!" Her twisting hands trembled and her cheeks went from a pink blush to a red flush of shame.

"Ah, and on the subject of memories, Miss Granger," I drawled, going in for the kill. She sucked in a breath and refused to meet my eyes.

"That's none of your business."

"I have yet to ask a question."

"I don't care what you're going to ask. Its none of your business. Stay out of my head."

"If only it were so simple. You see, you brought this upon yourself when you so foolishly stepped in front of my wand. You, Miss Granger, put me into your memories and must now deal with the consequences."

"What do you want?" she whispered. I swallowed thickly and pushed ahead. I kept my voice clipped and cold.

"How old were you in that memory?" I waited while she took two breaths and looked at the wall.

"Eight."

My stomach heaved again and I clenched my jaw together, my iron will the only thing keeping me from exploding in rage. I inhaled slowly before I spoke again to make sure my voice held no emotion.

"It had happened before?" We both knew the answer, but she answered anyways, not bothering to elaborate.

"Yes."

"And after?" I held my breath silently.

"Y-yes." That one small crack in her voice was almost my undoing. I said nothing for endless moments as that word stretched between us.

"May I assume," I gritted out, "that it ended when you turned eleven and received your wand?" I expected another quick affirmative. There wasn't a single chance in Gryffendor's Golgotha that Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age, had allowed-

She sniffed, not a sharp intake of breath to indicate disdain for my question. A sniffle that foretold tears. My head jerked to look at her, shock breaking my carefully constructed facade of indifference. Her eyes met mine and saw the revulsion there.

"I- I-" she stopped, dropped her gaze, and suppressed a sob. Then she started to rise, obviously seeking to flee my office.

"Sit down, Miss Granger!" I hissed the words so forcefully at her that she obeyed instantly. "You allowed this to continue? For how long?" Her eyes widened and one small spark of her fire returned.

"You miserable bastard! Allowed? _Allowed?"_ She glared at me, her look so filled with hate that even my black soul quelled. I realized that my wording of the question had been atrocious. It insinuated that she'd let the attacks occur, and I'd seen clearly that she had fought, even knowing that it would do her no good. But why hadn't she turned her wand on the sick fuck who'd done that to her? There were any number of hexes or curses that would have stopped him. No one would have blamed her for defending herself from such a monster.

"I apologize. That...that was not the right way to pose my question. How long did this continue?"

"It is none of your business," she whispered defiantly. I blinked in surprise. Why wouldn't she answer? _Maybe because you made it sound as if at eleven, it was her fault the attacks continued. What does she think your reaction will be if she admits they didn't stop until she was twelve? Thirteen? Fifteen?_ I hated myself in that moment, for my thoughtless words that led her to think that I was judging her. That I had any right to question her desire to fight her attacker. I tried another tack.

"Who was he?" This question pounded in my veins, the burning desire to know who would dare treat her in such a manner. Who would be vile enough to touch a child that way. And what had been done to him in recompense.

"It isn't any of your concern, _headmaster Snape," _she snapped. Why didn't she want to tell me? Why would she hide his identity? A thought occurred to me.

"I assure you, if you have dispatched of the slime, I will neither harbor you any ill will nor feel it necessary to inform the Aurors. In this case, your judgment had every right to assign the penalty." I meant very word as I spoke them. If she'd gutted the bastard it would have been too good for him. If her fear in revealing the man's name was discovery of his death, it certainly would not come from me. Her lips parted and she inhaled a quick breath.

"I am not a murderer!" She sounded so outraged, so shocked that I might think such a thing. Did she not harbor any thoughts of revenge? Of justice?

"Murder, Miss Granger? Who said anything about murder?"

"You...you intimated that I had killed a man."

"I intimated that you had killed a monster," I replied coldly. "Do you really think that ridding the world of a man who would do something so reprehensible as rape a child constitutes murder?" I shook my head at her with a bitter twist of my lips. "If so, then we have a vast difference of opinion, Miss Granger. You see, I would consider the disposal of such garbage as a service to society." She simply stared at me for long moments. I could not believe that she found this so difficult to grasp. If she hadn't killed him, then what was her reason for not admitting who he was? And why did she seem so shocked at the thought of killing him?

"Not all matters are so black and white," she finally murmured. I fought my gasp. Not so black and white? What grey area was there that a pedophile rapist deserved death? What mitigating circumstances could justify such an atrocity?

"I beg to differ. The reasons, the circumstances, the excuses, do not matter. Death is the only just comeuppance for such an act. Unless you merely tortured him to insanity...?" She paled. "I thought not. Your Gryffindor heart is too soft for such retribution."

"I will state again, that this is none of your business. Who he is, and what happens to him, is none of your business." She was emanating waves of shame as heat would from a furnace. There was more to this than she was saying. What was she hiding?

"That is where you are wrong. You see, you are a student under my care. Someone in your life is a violent pedophile. Making sure that man isn't harming any other children is not only my job, but my moral obligation. I would be remiss in my duties as a teacher, and more-so as headmaster of this school, if I allowed him the opportunity to violate another child. People like him do not stop with just one."

"He isn't a danger to anyone else," she whispered.

"What makes you so sure?" I demanded. Why was she fighting me so hard on this? What was she hiding? My eyes narrowed and my wand whipped out faster than she could lift her head. I pushed into her mind, searching-

_Fear_

_Darkness_

_Guilt_

_Footsteps on the wood floor, the door pushing open, tremors wracking her body-_

"Stop!" Hermione slammed her mind closed to me. The force of it actually stung, my magic repulsed back from her shields. The girl hadn't been lying when she told Potter she was an accomplished Occlumens. Since the deaths of Voldermort and Dumbledore, I was not being arrogant to say that my legilimency powers are unrivaled in the wizarding world. To be able to eject me from her mind so forcefully was a tribute to her strength in the skill. I pushed back against her mind again, probing for weakness in her defenses. "Get out of my head!" She clutched her head in her hands and moaned, but her shields never wavered. I could feel light impressions, shame and horror and gut wrenching fear, but I couldn't see any thoughts or memories.

Tears fell from her lashes and I drew back, guilt assailing me. She was obviously traumatized, riddled with insecurities and doubts, and I was barraging her mind with all the delicacy of a battering ram. To her, it probably felt like just as much a violation as a physical assault. I pulled back immediately. Her sigh of relief was audible, her hands relaxing but staying pressed to her head.

"Leave me alone," she whispered desperately. I looked down at the miserable woman before me. How could this be the same woman that had defied me at every turn, that had played a key part in the destruction of the most evil wizard of all time? She had always seemed so cool and collected, so in control... But then, hadn't I been known for his steely demeanor when I was in school? And hadn't I used that stoicism to hide a multitude of horrors in the service of the Dark Lord?

"Have you ever told anyone about this...assault?"

"No." She wiped her tears away swiftly, as if realizing how foolish such displays were. She was nothing if not practical, after all.

"Not a parent, a counselor? A muggle police officer?"

"No."

"Not your friends?"

"I said no! And I never will!"

"Why?" I hated how soft the word sounded on my tongue. I wanted it to bite, to demand. I didn't want it to seem like an entreaty. I did not _entreat_. But she ignored my tone.

"Why?" Her head raised and her eyes flashed. "To avoid _this_! Why would I possibly want to relive this? To burden my friends with this knowledge? To have to explain, to admit..."

"Have you at least seen a medical professional? Even one of your fumbling muggle doctors?" Ah there was the demanding tone. There was the outrage. Surely she hadn't been so stupid as to assume that there wasn't a chance of lasting physical damage or disease.

"I have run diagnostic spells on myself-"

"Answer my question directly, Miss Granger!"

"No!"

"Why not?" Ice ran through my veins. How could she be so stupid? So reckless with her own life?

"I couldn't very well seek medical attention without explaining what happened!"

"And you were willing to gamble your life to maintain your silence?" I knew that I was being a bastard of the worst sort. She was a victim of a terrible crime, and I was pushing her, badgering her, practically insulting her. But my outrage knew no bounds. We both knew that I am not a kind or generous man. My tactics weren't designed to protect her feelings or sensibilities. They were to get results.

"I doubt there has been any life threatening damage done."

"Doubt? Or know?"

She fell silent, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Of course there wasn't any way for her to know for sure. Only a trained witch or wizard would be able to tell her for certain. And no matter what she'd read in her books, what spells she'd mastered in theory, there wasn't any way for her to identify or treat the damage that might have been inflicted. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes, fighting for control. I needed to get her out of my office. I needed to clear my mind, to block out her pain and suffering. It was clouding my thinking, interfering with my ability to remain impartial- whatever was left of it.

I walked stiffly to my desk again and wrote out the name of the first potion she would need to complete for her studies. When I held it out to her, she did not look up or take the parchment. Anger snapping, I dropped my hand down on her shoulder to get her attention.

She flinched away from me.

My stomach again heaved as I immediately released her. The parchment fell from my fingers and flitted into her lap. Though her face was carefully composed, I could still see the trace of fear behind her eyes. I thought back to all the years that I'd known her. Surely she hadn't always flinched away from a man's touch? Potter and Weasley had certainly embraced her enough. But from a man older than her? No, I couldn't recall a single instance that a professor, or even the headmaster had ever laid a hand on her in such a manner. She'd always been just out of range for friendly contact. It had never occurred to me that _this_ was why.

"I expect that potion brewed and on my desk by tomorrow at sundown." My voice was rough and stark, but I knew there was nothing I could do to change that. I felt as if I had been raked over the coals, but I knew it had to be nothing compared to what Miss Granger felt like. I was going to let her escape now and lick her wounds. Repair her pride. Regain her dignity. But first... "And I expect you to have undergone a physical examination by a trained healer as well."

Her head snapped up, her mouth open in a gasp. Horror filled her face.

"I- no!"

"This is not up for discussion, Miss Granger. Good night." I sat heavily into my chair and studied the parchments before me. She stood, breath coming in quick bursts.

"You cannot make me!" There was such panic in her voice that I almost relented. Almost.

"Apparently you aren't aware, with all that insufferable knowledge in your head, that I am required by law to report a crime such as this to the Aurors, who would in turn question you, your family, and your friends. Then they would send you to St Mungos for examination and detection of evidence. You have gotten a taste already, I believe, of what happens when a person as famous as yourself is admitted to St Mungos, even for a trivial matter. I shudder to think what the media would do with such knowledge as this." It wasn't the whole truth, but I was going to use whatever means at my disposal to get her checked. I felt no guilt for changing certain small facts about my legal responsibility in the matter.

"You...you wouldn't," she whispered, her pain so clearly evident that I could not meet her eyes. "You can't. You can't! Headmaster, Professor, _Severus_..." Her eyes again filled with tears and they fell unrestrained down her cheeks. "Please. Please. Don't. I beg you. Please don't-"

"Cease this at once," I hissed. Her tears were twisting my heart, tearing away my composure. Hearing her beg me for mercy...it made my entire body shudder with disgust. I let her silence herself and then spoke again, my tone moderated once more. "I am giving you an out, Miss Granger. If you get the examination, and I can know from another authority than your dubious knowledge of medicine that your life isn't in any danger from damage or disease, then I will refrain from fulfilling my obligation. This will remain between us." She took a deep breath, I assumed to begin thanking me for the reprieve, but I stopped her with a raised hand. "But only if you get the exam. If you cannot be responsible enough to care for yourself, I will do it for you. By force or coercion if I must."

"I...I can't face anyone knowing," she whispered.

"One person, or the world, Miss Granger. I care not. The choice is yours, but you will be getting the exam one way or another." I knew my words were cold, my methods heartless, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The thought that she might be wasting away inside, rotting from some disease forced upon her- or worse, permanently damaged beyond repair- wasn't a chance I was willing to take, even to spare her the humiliation. I meant what I said.

"One person already does know. I...I can't tell anyone else." She shuddered. "You don't understand. Telling someone, explaining what happened, going through this again- I don't think I can do it."

I sighed, knowing the terror she was facing and hating myself for thrusting this upon her. But I could not back down. I fixed her with a cold stare.

"Would you rather tell your story, however painful it may be, to Madam Pomfrey, or would you rather have _me _do the blasted exam?" I snorted. Let her see how much worse things there were than having to tell her story again, and then buck up the courage. Her face paled, then her brows drew together.

"You are a trained healer?"

"Don't be stupid, Miss Granger. I've been a spy for longer than you've been alive, and a Potions Master since before you could walk. Of course I am a trained healer." I rolled my eyes. How could a clearly bright woman be so daft?

"Then you do it," she rushed. I flinched back. Blinked. Blinked again.

"_Excuse me?_"

"If that will placate you, and keep you from reporting this, then you do the exam. That way I won't have to tell-"

"You flinched away from a simple touch of my hand on your fucking shoulder," I snarled. "And yet you think you can submit to an exam from me?"

"I...I didn't mean to flinch. I wasn't thinking. I...trust you." She wove her fingers together and stared at them again. Then she glanced up at me. I have no doubt that my consternation showed on my face. She _trusted _me? Me? I'd just spent the last hour berating her, yelling at her, forcing her to reveal things she did not wish to reveal. Why could she possibly want me to be the one to...

"I assume you have never had such an examination before, Miss Granger. You should find out what they entail before you decide you would like me to be the one to preform it." I looked back down to my papers dismissively. There was no way she could still want me to be the one once she knew what all was involved in it. She would read one of her precious books, quail at the thought of her dreaded potions professor, the greasy git from the dungeons, the Slytherin bat, doing such a thing to her, and would go straight to Poppy.

"I might not have ever been through one myself, but I do know what goes on in such an exam," she said stiffly. My head came up once again in surprise.

"Then what would make you think that you could withstand that type of examination from someone such as me?" My sneer was met with a raise of her chin.

"One such as you? Someone who has spent nearly a decade protecting me and my friends, even to his own detriment? I trust that a man who thinks that one who would abuse a child deserves no better than death, would not take liberties or in any way be inappropriate during a medical exam. Especially, as you have pointed out, since I am still your student." She sounded so confident. So certain of me. For once, it was actually..._nice. _Over the years I had been accused of so many things. Had so many atrocities credited to my name. Now, having her voice her trust that I would never do something untoward to her- especially after what she'd been through- was a precious gift.

But it was one I couldn't accept blindly. Words were one thing. But I didn't think I would ever get the image of her cringing away from my simple touch on her shoulder out of my mind. With a sigh, I stood and went around to the front of the desk.

"Stand up, Miss Granger." I stoke softly, with no malice or scorn. It wasn't gentle or tender, but neither was it scathing. I was simply tired. Tired for her as well as myself. She looked up at me and then complied, a small wrinkle of worry marring her brow. When I stepped closer to her, she drew in a quick breath and braced herself. "I am not conducting the examination now, woman, so stop fretting." She instantly relaxed. I stepped closer again, so that we were mere inches apart. Her heart rate began to raise, her breath coming in shallow bursts. I lifted my hands and held them so that they were only just not touching her arms. She stood, frozen, waiting. "I can assume, from what I have seen and what you have said, and _haven't_ said, that the one who did this to you was someone close to you. An older man, perhaps close to my own age. Someone you _trusted_. Or should have been able to trust. Someone who's job it was to protect you. Like it has been my job to protect you." My breath must have been whispering across her face as I spoke, and she closed her eyes as she absorbed the impact of what I was saying. Slowly, I let my hands close the scant inches until they were resting on her arms. Touching her. If I had tightened my fingers I could have held her still and prevented her from escape. I deliberately left my fingers loose, but let the possibility hang there, between us.

If she couldn't bear to have me touch her like this, then she couldn't bear to have me examining her in her most sensitive of places. She bore my touch without moving, without hardly breathing. Her eyes opened finally and she looked at me as if seeing into my very soul.

"Have you ever raped a woman?" Her soft question made my breath catch. I stared back at her, unflinching although all I wanted to do was hide from her penetrating gaze. How had this turned around on me? How was I now the one baring my worst nightmares?

"I have done many unforgivable things in the service of the Dark Lord." It was a non-answer, and she was too smart not to know that.

"Do you think you deserve to die for the things you were forced to do?" Her question was one I'd considered so many times that I did not need to think about the answer. I knew it already.

"Yes." I said flatly. The truth, plain and simple. A truth I believed with all my black heart.

"If you had been given the choice, would you have done any of those things willingly?" This time, her question brought anger surging through my blood.

"You have never been forced to do something you find so vile that your stomach churns at the very memory and you wish you could simply die to escape the guilt, or else you would not ask such a question."

"Wouldn't I?" She said it so quietly, so slowly, almost so that I couldn't hear her. Her eyes still searched mine, searing me, laying me bare. "I think you are perhaps more like _me_ than the man who did this to me. You may be one of the few people in the world that understands. The guilt. The shame. The horror." She lifted her hand to where my own was covering her arm. Her soft fingertips brushed the index finger on my right hand. "I think that you have more honor in this one finger, than he has in his entire being. Which is why, despite any similarities you try and make me see between the two of you, I can trust you to do this."

My hands fell away. She turned, clutching her parchment in her hand, and left my office. I stared after her, speechless. Dumbstruck. Where had the weeping, begging mess of a child in my office only moments before gone? Who was this wise, poised woman who had taken her place? She was such a mass of contradictions. A jumble of terror and guilt twisted with shame and fear and all her worst nightmares. And yet she could see right into my soul and not let my outer shell, the pieces that make up my physical being, stop her from knowing who I was inside. How could the witch who sobbingly begged me to keep her secret be the same witch who braved not only my touch, but the horrors of my past?

I stayed, frozen there, for long after she'd gone. Staring at my hand where she'd stroked my finger. It was ridiculous, of course. I had no honor. None. The idea that any man could have less honor in their entire being than I had in that one finger was asinine. So why couldn't I stop staring at that one finger, feeling that those honey brown eyes of hers were the first to ever truly see me?


	4. Chapter 4

_**Notes at the end...go on, you know you want to skip ahead to the story anyways ; )**_

SSHG

I received her missive at breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning. I was, of course, at the head table with the other professors. My eyes found hers among the crowd of students. While she was technically enrolled in Hogwarts, she was not a normal student by any means and as such had the option as did all the other returning seventh years of eating meals in her private quarters. I got the feeling that she sat at the Gryffindor table that morning simply to show me that she could. She sat slightly separate from the rest of the students, but there was a large group of children who had aided in the war efforts in one way or another that were close by. Despite their friendly chatter, she paid them no attention. After her eyes had met mine and acknowledged me, they returned to her food and stayed there.

_My Ancient Runes tutoring session ends at noon. After that I await your convenience for my exam._

Her neat cursive writing stood out starkly on the parchment like an accusation. I crumpled the paper and shoved it into my robe. What had possessed me to even extend the option of me doing this exam? I hadn't truly meant it! I thought that once she saw how much worse the alternatives were, she would run straight to Poppy. I stared so hard at my water goblet that it cracked. Before water could start dripping, the goblet disappeared and a new one took its place. I took a deep breath, getting my anger and my magic under control. I didn't want to do this fucking exam any more than I wanted to pose nude for the cover of Witch Weekly. In fact, I would much rather have rather stripped starkers and smiled for their photographer than do the exam.

It was in the front of my mind to simply tell her that I wasn't an option, despite what I'd said the night before, and make her see someone else. The only thing that stopped me was the memory of her words right before she'd left my office. Her trust in me. Her absolute confidence that I would not harm her. That I understood. And spirits help me, I did. Serving Voldermort had been a constant rape of the soul. My soul had been ravaged just as much as her body, and I knew why she felt that shame, anger, horror. I shared them. I had been forced by necessity to share my trauma with Dumbledore. She had never shared hers with anyone before. But now that I knew, it gave her the opportunity to see to her health without telling anyone else about what had happened.

I was putting myself on the block for someone else, yet again. I'd sworn after the war that never, never again would I cause myself suffering on behalf of others. Too much of my life had been spent that way. And now I would be doing this exam to spare Miss Granger's feelings. Did she not realize how terrible it would be for me? She was not a selfish woman, so I doubted it. I swallowed thickly, hardened my resolve, and pretended to eat my breakfast.

But my appetite was gone.

At noon, my emotions were wrung out and I felt raw all over. I couldn't stop imagining what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Did her hands shake in fear even as I paced my office? Was her heart pounding in her throat with thoughts of what was to come? How many times that morning did she force down the awful memories of what had been done to her? And why couldn't I stop feeling this ridiculous empathy for her? I needed to remain as detached as possible. I needed to be impartial and cold. I would be coming face to face with physical evidence of a terrible assault and I needed my composure. The water goblet that morning hadn't been the only thing to break because of my turbulent emotions, and I did not want every vial and glass pane in my office to shatter when I saw exactly what had been done to her.

Taking deep breaths, I sought the calm in my mind. I forced myself to see how stupid it was to be agitated by this. She was a grown woman. She certainly wasn't reaching out to me for help. I would repair any damage, give her potions for any diseases, and then we would never speak of this again. She would continue her weekend tutoring sessions for the semester, take her NEWTS, and if I never saw her face again it would be only too soon. The only relief I took for the next few months was that I did not have to see her during the week. She would only be in the castle Friday Saturday and Sunday until January and no more than that.

Feeling slightly more composed, I seated myself at my desk and transfigured a worktable at my right into an exam table. After making sure that I had all the supplies necessary at the ready, I charmed a message to find her in the castle and bring her to me.

My mind was still in its forced calm when she came into my office a few minutes later. She said nothing in greeting, nor did I. After setting her bag on the floor, she stood silently. I looked up at her from my seat and met her eyes. They were unblinking. With a sigh and a resigned nod, I flicked my wand at her and instantly her robes became a soft hospital gown.

"Onto the table," I instructed. She broke eye contact and went to the table, seating herself there and laying back. Without walking over to her yet, I levitated the papery blanket beside her over her lap. "Scoot down until you are at the edge of the table and put your heels into the catches." I saw her shifting from the corner of my eye, heard her gasp when she felt how exposed she was when arranged thus. I closed my eyes momentarily and regained my mental calm. I could do this. I pulled my hair back and secured it at the nape of my neck. My sleeves were rolled up over my forearms, and I cast a _scourgafy_ on my hands and arms before donning surgical gloves. I'd be damned if I'd touch her without some sort of barrier no matter how thin, even with cleansing charms. It had nothing to do with fear of myself becoming infected with something she might carry and everything to do with feeling that as long as I wasn't placing my bare hands on her I would be sparing her some small pain.

Wand at the ready, I finally turned and went to the small stool placed at the end of the exam table and seated myself between her legs. The blanket across her knees formed a sort of sheet between us, but I could tell her eyes were squeezed shut. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and turned my eyes down to her.

_Holy mother of god._

Had I eaten any of my breakfast that morning, it would have been ejected from my stomach. I closed my eyes and opened them again, hoping beyond hope that what I'd seen had been a mistake. A trick of the light. But no. Everything was still exactly as I'd first seen it. I heard several quiet _pings_ from across the room as glass started to crack. I closed my eyes once more to fight for control. I could control my magic. I could control my revulsion. I could control the rage that pounded in my ears like the deadly ticking of a bomb. I opened my eyes and sent several diagnostic spells at her.

While they worked, my mind raced. How could this be possible? She'd been eight in the memory I'd seen. She said that it had started earlier than that even. And that it had gone on after. Sometime older than eleven. But I just thought that after my outburst she had been too ashamed to tell me if it had been a year or more later than that when it stopped. I thought fifteen at the latest. The absolute worst possibility. At fifteen she'd begun to learn fighting spells and had mastered them quickly. It at least had to have stopped by then.

So _why_, why _fucking why_ were these abrasions fresh? Why were these bruises obviously less than a week old? Why were the cuts just starting to scab over? I knew my hands were trembling as I began to place healing spells on her. I'd been totally unprepared for this. Wordlessly, I _accioed _several potions from my private stores. Poultices for bruises, salves for cuts, a pain draught. The jars I kept at my side as I began to work. The little bottle I sent up to her.

"Drink that." Was that my voice? Had those words come from my throat? They sounded so foreign, not like any sound my own vocal cords had ever made. No. They were too agonized, too emotional to ever have come from me. She did as I said without comment or question. Her trust in me continued to floor me.

My diagnostic spells continued to run as I began the slow process of healing her from the inside out. Healing years of damage. Healing injuries that had obviously been inflicted less than a week ago, as well. I did not want to lay my hands on her, but I couldn't do everything that needed done with simple wandwork. I heard her sharp intake of breath as I probed for deeper damage. Her muscles tensed, body subconsciously trying to fight.

"Miss Granger, you must relax if I'm to be able to fully diagnose and repair this damage." I moderated my voice until my tone was cool and clinical. She took a shuddering breath and fought her body's natural reaction. Fearing she was on the edge of full blown panic, I probed her mind, not a full legimens, but a soft brush that she would not notice.

_Does he think I don't know that it will go easier for me if I relax? Does he think I wouldn't always make my body malleable and pliant if I could? I know how much pain it could save me. So why can't I stop it? Why can't I simply allow it?_

_Oh god oh god._

_No! This isn't like that. He's trying to help, he wants to help me. He wants to take the pain away, not make it worse. He's not enjoying this. He won't hurt me. He won't use me. I can do this. I can do this. Relax. He won't hurt me. I trust Severus Snape with my life. I can trust him with my body. Don't think of the times _**he**_ said that it would go easier for me if I just stopped fighting. You are very brave, Hermione Granger. You can do this. I **can** do this. Remember who is touching me now. Remember how safe Severus makes me feel. Remember how many times he has saved my life, put himself in danger to protect me. Remember his strong hands fighting to keep me from harm. Remember his deep voice, calm and commanding, never sickly sweet with false promises. Relax. He will not hurt me. He would never hurt me._

I felt her body relax and withdrew from her mind. It took every ounce of my considerable willpower to keep my hands from shaking as I continued the exam. How was I to feel about what I'd just seen in her mind? How was I supposed to feel that my admonishment to relax had made her think back to when her abuser had told her not to fight him? And how was I supposed to feel that despite her panic, her fears, she trusted me? By the images that had flashed across her mind, she remembered every time I'd put myself in harms way to protect her and her friends. Had I thought my service thankless or unnoticed? This woman had carefully cherished every memory, every act I'd done to help her. She took solace in my cutting words because they were brutal in their honesty. What cloying words had her attacker told her? What dulcet promises had he made her?

I didn't want to know. I didn't want to feel any of this. Not the disgust that I might have said something to make her relive even a little of that horror. Not the comfort her trust lent to my soul. Not the gratitude that someone saw the things I'd done and was thankful for them. I wanted to be numb. I fought for emptiness of emotion as I continued. With one hand just above her pelvic bone and fingers from my other hand inside her, I pressed slightly, feeling for damage to her cervix. She flinched at the pressure and her body tensed again. I withdrew and took a deep breath.

"Are you able to continue, Miss Granger?" I could have brushed her mind again to see how much more she could handle, but didn't dare. My hold on control was a tenuous thread that I didn't trust to withstand another look into her head. "If you cannot, we can stop right now. We can continue another day, or you can ask Madam Pomfrey to finish the exam and healing." I waited, not touching her again until she answered.

"No. Keep going. Please. I need to just get this over with." Her voice was strained, but steady. Nodding to myself, I kept going. Healing tears, removing thick scar tissue, easing strained muscles. Thank the spirits there wasn't any disease. She'd been spared at least that indignity. Once her internal bruising was repaired and all traces of her attacks had been removed from inside her, I moved outward. "Thank you," she whispered as I rubbed a poultice on a disgustingly hand shaped bruise on her inner thigh. Startled, I stopped and caught my breath.

"For what?" The incredulity in my voice was obvious.

"For giving me the choice." Her words made my heart twist. I hadn't given her a choice. I'd coerced her into this, and worse, I'd do it again. "For giving me the chance to change my mind," she continued. "For being willing to stop if it was too much for me."

"Common decency," I muttered, unable to accept her gratitude. I kept working, wanting this blasted healing finished.

"I cannot tell you how much it means to me," she said softly. Inside my chest, I felt my heart twist again. I could fight for numbness all I wanted, but I could not be oblivious to her pain. I felt it more sharply than I would feel my own. I didn't just want to feel the blood of her attacker coating my hands, I also wanted to do something so ridiculous as to hold her. Comfort her. Absurd.

I worked for another half an hour before I finished all the healing that could be done. It would only take time, now, and she would be back to full health once more. But...only if this didn't happen again.

I pushed back and stood, gesturing for her to sit up. Once she did, I transfigured her clothing back to the way it had been, and disposed of the gloves. I wordlessly cast two _scourgify_ charms at my hands, as if cleaning them would clean my mind of seeing what had been done to her. I felt dirty just having had to see it. How did she walk around every day feeling it? Living it?

"Sit," I commanded softly. Before I took my own seat, I returned the exam table to its original state as a worktable. Then I sat heavily, tenting my fingers under my chin and watching her carefully. "Do you feel the need for a calming draught?" Instantly her eyes were narrowed in confusion.

"Why?"

"Because, Miss Granger, we need to discuss...this."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Are you under the impression that I am the sort of man to see something like that and do nothing about it?" The menace was back in my voice, but whether I'd intended that or not I honestly couldn't tell.

"I...Severus...Headmaster, there isn't anything to be done. I owe you an incredible debt of gratitiude for healing me. I cannot tell you what it means to me to be pain free right now. Above and beyond that, nothing can be done."

"Nothing can be done?" I hissed the words, my anger rising again, burning out of control. "It can be stopped! Sweet Salizar, woman, you can fight back! And I don't mean simple struggling. I mean defending your life."

"My life isn't in danger."

"Are you really so certain?"

"Yes." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Tell me this much, then. Is it the same man? The one from that memory I saw in your childhood? Or is this some new assailant?" I tried to keep the venom from the words. For several moments, she said nothing.

"No, it is the same man."

"So explain to me why this has gone on for so long. Why haven't you stopped him. Hurt him, killed him."

"You don't understand! I can't!" Tears began to form in her eyes. Questions whirled in my mind like a tornado. Couldn't? Or wouldn't? Why wouldn't a woman want to harm her rapist? What could possibly be protecting him from her wrath?

"Is he a more powerful wizard than you, then?" I gripped my wand subconsciously, thinking of how much I would enjoy peeling the skin from this man before I burned him slowly alive. I didn't doubt my ability to preform the task for her if for some reason she simply wasn't strong enough.

"No, he's a muggle-"

"A _muggle_?! What, does he have some sort of blackmail on you?"

"No, nothing like that! You don't understand, you don't get it, I can't...can't hurt him..." She dissolved into tears. A terrible thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. Something so evil that it chilled my bones.

"Do you..._love_ him?" The question burned my tongue like sacrilege. Was it possible? Her head came up to mine, eyes searching mine as if looking for absolution. Understanding.

"Yes," she whispered. "I hate him. _ I hate him_. But I love him. I have to." Seeing the revulsion on my face, she dropped her eyes to the floor once more. I could hear the pounding of my heart, feel the tingle in my fingertips of magic building there. Looking to lash out. Looking to kill. Disgust and horror and a black kind of hatred the likes of which I'd never known boiling inside me.

"Have you ever heard of something called Stockholm Syndrome, Miss Granger?"

"Of course," she started. I cut her off.

"Then you're aware that occasionally victims of terrible abuses learn to identify with their abusers. Defend them, develop a kind of relationship with them. And I'm sure you're aware that these feelings are nothing more than their mind's way of trying to cope with the horrors inflicted upon them. They are _not _real."

"I do not have Stockholm Syndrome," she insisted.

"No? You have just admitted to being in love with the man who rapes you."

"Not _in love_ with him-"

"Love but not in love?" My mind raced with what the fuck she could possibly mean. Possibilities flashed in my mind, examined at light speed and discarded just as quickly. Finally I came to one that made sense. "Is he a member of your family, Miss Granger?" When she gaped up at me, I knew I'd struck home. A member of her mother fucking family. Her flesh and blood. Someone who was bound by the very laws of nature to protect her and cherish her. Someone she felt compelled to love. My rage intensified. "I realize that you may think you are doing the right thing by defending him-" I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to maintain my calm demeanor.

"Defending him? I am not defending him! You have no idea what you are talking about!"

"Then explain it to me!" I thundered at her. She flinched and I instantly regretted the outburst.

"I do not have to explain anything to you! Just- just leave me alone! I can handle it!"

"Obviously you can't!"

"Stop! Stop this!" She stood and ran to the door.

"Do you want this to go on for the rest of your life?!" I rose and strode after her. She turned, those caramel eyes anguished.

"_Want_? You bastard. You bastard! Leave me the hell alone!" She grabbed the door handle and started to open the door. In one stride I was beside her, snapping the door shut by placing one hand palm flat against it and leaning my weight into it. She glared up at me, tears falling freely. I felt the weight of guilt pressing down on me. I didn't know the right words to say, I kept messing it up, making her feel pain because of my carelessness...

"Let me help you," I entreated. It was the second time in my entire life I'd begged. In all my years, I had only done it once before, to save the life of the woman I loved. And now, I was doing it again, trying to save another young woman who wouldn't take my help. For one instant, she froze. Her eyes bored into mine, stripping me bare once more. I thought that she was going to collapse into my arms. That she was going to cry on my shoulder and beg me to save her. Turn to me for comfort and safe haven. And it was what I wanted. Anything, anything except for her to go through that door and continue on the way she had been.

But then the anguish came back again. "No one can help me," she whispered fiercely. Then she yanked the door open. I was so stunned that I let her. She fled my office. I stood in the door way, watching her go, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

_**Ugh...this chapter was so emotionally exhausting to write. I love, and hate and love it. There's just so much...you understand it, right? Poor Severus. Poor Hermione. It gets darkest before the light comes in this story, so hang on, but don't worry, I promise there WILL be light at the end of the tunnel. This started out as a short little drabble, a scene bouncing around in my head, and has blossomed into something else, this angsty and dark tale that demanded to be told. The chapters are coming quick and somewhat random, but hopefully the rapid updates makes up for the lack of schedule to them.**_

_** Questions? Comments? Leave me a reivew! Also, (and you LTL readers already know this!) I will be doing an author Q&A as chapter 27 of Learning to Live, so if you'd like your question to appear, send it along to me!**_

_**On a final note: to my guest reviewer concerned that I was going about the story the wrong way by having Snape "force Hermione with violence" and turning Snape into a "spiteful petty little arse," I say this. As every writer knows, true characters do not bend to the author's will. The characters do what they wish, we are just the conduits through which they express themselves. Many times in this story, Snape has done things I did not want him to do. Alas, I cannot control that sneaky Slytherin. However, I will note this line of regret that he voiced when he realized how upset Hermione was at his intrusion into her head:**_

"Tears fell from her lashes and I drew back, guilt assailing me. She was obviously traumatized, riddled with insecurities and doubts, and I was barraging her mind with all the delicacy of a battering ram. To her, it probably felt like just as much a violation as a physical assault. I pulled back immediately."

_**He does not wish to harm her or victimize her further. As we all know, he's a good guy at heart. As for forcing her to get the exam by giving her an ultimatum, unless you have been forced into that position before, there is no way to know how you will react. Could you take the chance that someone you care for was carrying a disease that might kill them? Or that they'd been deformed and could be in need of internal repairs? What lengths would you go to in order to make sure they were safe? While his methods are abrasive and a little callous, much like the man himself, they have Hermione's best interest at heart. I'm not saying that Hermione won't feel cornered, pressured, uncomfrotable, and yes even a little bullied, but hopefully you'll come to see just how necessary his 'tough love' is for her. Nothing he does is petty or spiteful. His behavior will continue to seem at once both icy cold adn blisteringly hot. But I'm afraid that if you think that he is a petty spiteful little arse simply by ensuring Hermione gets proper medical attention, his behavior as the story progresses may upset you. Hopefully, though, you can come to see Severus' side : )**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sorry sorry sorry for not updating yesterday like I planned! I have no excuse, except that my own personal Professor Snape gave me a wonderful day and I fell asleep in his arms before I had a chance to post this chapter. Forgive me?**_

_**Hope this makes up for it ; )**_

SS

Nothing, I decided. I wouldn't do a damn thing. She didn't want my help. She was a witch with more than enough power to dispatch a simple muggle. She was smart enough to know what Stockholm Syndrome was, and deny that she had it. She'd no doubt read enough books to realize that emotional trauma damaged the psyche and that without seeking psychological healing as well as physical, she'd never recover fully.

I'd healed the physical damage. She had no disease or impairment, her life was not in peril. She was an adult, old enough to make her own choices. I had no more obligation in the situation. Hell, I'd gone above and beyond the call of duty. No one could say I hadn't done more than necessary.

So I put her from my mind and went about my business.

Mostly.

Except for a few times a day.

When my mind would wander to her and how she was doing. Where she was. What she was feeling.

But as soon as I caught myself in these little weaknesses, I forced my thoughts to something else. I ignored my desire to go to her and protect her. It was just a lingering sense of duty from my years as a spy, surely. Nothing to be concerned about. I did not make any attempt to call her back to my office that afternoon or the next day. Sunday night she left the castle with the rest of the tutor students. Gone for the week, back to their families and jobs. Not to return till Friday.

I refused to let myself wonder what would happen to her once she got home.

Mostly.

Except for a few times an hour.

When I felt waves of anger and helplessness wash over me. Fear for her that I couldn't tamp down. What was she being subject to right that very moment? It was enough to make me sick.

The rest of that week, I stayed in my office as much as possible. I couldn't let myself among the students and staff more than necessary without blowing up at someone. So many houses lost so many points in those four days that even the boldest of students gave me a wide birth.

Friday morning dawned gloriously, the sunshine managing to pierce through the waters of the lake and leave murky gleaming on my floor and bed. I rose stiffly, uncertain if I was glad or upset that Miss Granger would be returning to the castle that day. I was to tutor her at ten that morning. Her last potion had been flawless, and I had no doubt that I could simply send her an owl with the name of the potion I wanted her to brew next. But part of me wanted to see her again face to face. To reassure myself that she was safe and whole. Ridiculous. Perhaps the most un-Snape-like urge I'd ever had. But it was there all the same.

Reminding myself that it was none of my business, I still decided to keep our appointment. If nothing else, to appease my absurd desire to hear her tell me in that spitfire voice that she was fine and didn't need my help. Hearing it from her lips would help me believe the lie.

At ten, she walked into my office and shut the door quietly behind her. I couldn't help the way my eyes roved over her, seeking any outward damage. I wasn't surprised when I didn't see any. I'd never seen any before, after all. No one had. The bastard had been careful to only leave marks where no one would see them. She dropped her bag to the floor and sank into the chair in front of my desk. Was it just my imagination or did she wince as she sat?

She didn't address me, and seemed to be abiding by my rule that if she wouldn't address me as Headmaster then she wouldn't address me at all. It still confused me that she wouldn't call me headmaster if she could help it. She obviously trusted me and respected me. So what, before the previous week obviously, had I done to earn her ire? She'd always been strangely respectful even in her insolence previously. So what had changed?

I wrote out the potion she would be brewing for the session and the name of the book she would need to find its ingredients in. Then I recalled that she wouldn't be able to find it in the library and whilst her bag seemed a veritable library of its own, she more than likely didn't own it already. With a sigh, I summoned my own copy of the book from the shelf behind her. Much to my consternation, the spell took a berth around Miss Granger rather than simply shooting past her. Of course, she didn't notice a thing. The spell was invisible to the naked eye, as most were, but I had always had a knack for seeing the strands of magic in the world about me.

While the book responded to my spell and flew gently to my desk, I studied the air by her head. What had caused the spell to deviate from its original path? And there, right in front of me, I noticed the faint shivering in the air. It would be invisible to anyone else' eyes, and even for me it was nearly impossible to spot. But it was there. The ever so subtle shimmer of a glamour.

"_Finite incantatem_," I whispered with a flick of my wand. The glamor was gone before she'd had a chance to hear what I'd said. I blinked, shocked, mad for being shocked, angry on her behalf, ashamed of myself that I'd allowed it to happen. Because despite my mind trying to insist that I had done my job, I had done right by her and then some, my heart felt as if I was the one who'd blackened her eye. I was the one who'd split her lip. I was the one who'd left that sickening bruise around her neck. Because I'd allowed her to go back to that.

_What were you supposed to do, chain her to the wall in your office until she told you who'd attacked her?_

Yes, if that was what it took.

_She made her decision. She didn't want your help. She said as much._

No, she said that no one _could_ help her. Which she obviously believed. The monster had gotten so deeply under her skin that she felt no one could save her. Maybe felt that she didn't deserve to be saved. Maybe felt that going back to him was her only option.

_Why would she choose to stay? What possible reason could there be?_

He'd been raping her for more than a decade. For most of her life. It was possible that she didn't see any other paths open to her. Or that he'd convinced her that he couldn't live without him. Made her truly think so little of herself that she needed him. Maybe he threatened her with something.

"Miss Granger," I started, my voice shaking slightly. I hated that weakness. I hated her for bringing it out in me. I hated that it had been done to her. And I hated the man that had done it to her with all the hatred one human is capable of feeling for another. "You said your life wasn't in danger, damn it!" I snarled at her. I shoved out of my chair and braced both hands on my desk, leaning closer to her. "You were so certain!" She blinked, pulling back into the chair in shock.

"Severus, I-" she held up her hand as if to ward me off and then stopped, horrified as she realized her glamor was gone. The bruises around her wrists were visible. Instantly, she pointed her wand at herself to replace the glamor.

"Don't,' I hissed at her before she could place the charm. She blanched, but lowered her wand.

"My...my life isn't in danger," she whispered. I stalked around the desk until I was directly in front of her. Forcing my hand not to shake, I reached out and ran my finger along the ring of bruises around her neck in a feather light touch. Her chest heaved, her body trembled, but she didn't flinch away from my touch.

"Did you feel so certain when he had his hands around your neck? Were you so sure while he choked you, closed off your airways and watched you struggle to try and draw breath? Were you certain in that moment that he wouldn't kill you?" Rather than respond to my questions, she merely stared at the floor. I placed one finger under her chin and lifted her face. "Does your life really mean so little to you, Hermione, that you are willing to take that chance again?"

I don't know whether she was more shocked at my use of her given name- was that the first time I'd ever called her that?- or just startled as the reality of what I was saying hit home. She blinked up at me with those huge innocent eyes, eyes that had seen far too much and yet so little all at once. Her lips parted and a soft breath passed their pink boarders. For one moment, one wild, disjointed moment, I wanted to kiss those lips. To press my own to hers and taste her. Not with a vulgar press of tongue on tongue, teeth on teeth, but a sharing of breath, sharing of spirit.

Immediately I dropped my hand from her and retreated to my side of the desk. I didn't know where the thought had come from, but it scared me to my core. I'd never, _never_ had inappropriate thoughts about a student. Ever. I am a bastard, the lowest of the low, but even I would not stoop so low as to lust after the children in my care. Then again, Hermione was no child. She was a grown woman, not a teenager showing an expanse of cleavage that did more to give rise to my ire than my libido. But she was also a grown woman in obvious distress. If she knew what I was thinking, her trust in me, her faith that I could never do anything untoward, would be obliterated. She probably saw me as sexless as a eunuch. The thought that I could see her, even just those pink, parted lips, as sexual, would have driven her screaming from my office.

"I...I don't want to die," she whispered, oblivious to my inner turmoil. That, more than anything else, snapped me back to my right mind. She had obviously been ravaged by that monster once more. She was in need of healing. Healing that for one reason or another, she would allow only me to provide. And the day I look at a scared, violated woman during an exam and feel a stir of lust is the day I end my own life. Not one of the atrocities I committed in the service of Voldermort had driven me to that end, but feeling arousal during a medical exam of a young rape victim would drive me there straight as the crow flies.

Thankfully, just thinking about such atrocities made the strange, demented desire to kiss her, wilt away.

"He was just so mad..." Her softly voice confession brought me back to the moment. I waited, knowing she would keep going if only I was patient enough. And patience I had in spades. "I fought him. I told him no. I didn't want..."

_...you to be ashamed of me_.

I slipped into her mind just as unobtrusively as I had before. Like this, I couldn't see specific memories unless she brought them to the fore, but I could see her thoughts, and could thus see any events she was giving thought to at the moment. It was more disjointed, the images jumbled and confusing, but almost totally undetectable. She wouldn't know to guard against it.

She didn't want me to be ashamed of her? That's why she had fought him? That's why this had happened to her? I didn't have time to contemplate this as I was assailed by her thoughts.

_I just wanted to make him stop. I want to be someone worth fighting for. I don't ever want to see that look of disgust on Severus' face ever again. But __**he **__is so much stronger than me. Without turning my wand on him, there wasn't anything I could do to stop him. And he got so angry that I dared stand up to him..._

_Shut the fuck up you little whore! Take it like a good little girl and I won't have to hurt you any more-_

_I never want to see him so angry again. Would he really have killed me? Would he have let me die there under his fingers?_

_Gasping, lungs burning for air, eyes watering and staring at the ceiling praying for him to let go let me go please let me go. Praying too that he won't, just let me die, please just let me die and let all the pain be over. Severus. Fight so that I won't have lied to him. Live so that what I said to him will be true. So that his healing won't have been for nothing. Pain. Pain as he thrusts, pain as he hits, too late, Severus' healing is already undone, the bruises already forming-_

_No, don't think of that now. Lie to him, tell him I fell down the stairs. He won't believe it, of course, but maybe he'll accept it as a front of dignity. Maybe he'll let it pass and spare me. Please someone spare me. Someone save me. If I tell him the truth he will think the worst of me. A witch who can't even defend her honor. He will never understand. No one could ever understand. How do I tell him that I couldn't use my wand? That I couldn't inflict pain? That I can never simply end the love because of the hate? Tell him I want to live! Tell him that I need his help! _

_Hasn't he sacrificed enough for me? Enough for the whole fucking world? How selfish would I have to be to ask him to save me? He's spent so much of his life protecting me. Its not his job any more. I can feel safe in his presence, take refuge in his company, but it must be silently. That way he feels no guilt, no coercion. I have survived this long, I can keep on surviving. I am very strong. I am very strong._

"I can handle it," she said as I wrenched myself from her thoughts. But, oh, I'd seen inside her. I knew her secret fears and insecurities. Had I brought her to the point where she feared she would repulse me, by my own unrestrained reactions to her plight? Yes, probably. I'd never meant for her to feel that way- I felt disgust and revulsion at what her attacker had done, not with her. But she didn't know that. And now that I had seen the evidence of what he could do when angered, what he would do when she denied him, I vowed that this would never happen again.

Her days as this man's toy were over. His days of using her for his twisted pleasure had ended. His life was forfeit- he just didn't know it yet. I did.

"No, Miss Granger, you can't. More to the point, you won't. Because I won't allow it. You handled things your way. Now we will handle them mine."

"You- you can't!" Her eyes grew wide and flickered with something...fear? Did she think the despicable muggle could possibly hurt _me_?

"This is not up for discussion." I turned and transfigured the work table into an exam table once more. For the last time, I vowed. Why, why in bloody hell had I let her go home? Why had I so stupidly said that this was her problem to handle and that if she didn't want my help then that was fine? "You are in need of another exam and extensive healing, unless I am mistaken," I drawled, trying to keep my voice level.

"I-" She blushed and wrung her fingers together.

"Either myself, Madam Pomfrey, or a staff member at St Mungos will be preforming a healing on you, Miss Granger. The choice is yours."

As if to show her resignation, she transfigured her clothes into the same hospital gown I'd used the first time and went over to the table. While I went through my potions stores and selected those I thought I might need, I heard her positioning herself on the table. My gut clenched and I tried not think of how vulnerable she must feel spread out on the table like that.

This time, I was prepared for the sight that greeted me. To be honest, it wasn't nearly as bad as the first time around. The most awful of the injuries had been healed and not remade. This was mostly superficial damage that I was able to heal relatively easily. Once I was done between her legs, I moved up to apply poultices and salves to injuries on other areas of her body. Her face was probably the worst, though her arms and stomach were also blackened with bruises. I applied each salve with the gentleness that only a Potion Master can manage. Once all the damage had been repaired, I moved to the other side of the room, disposed of my gloves and empty vials, and resumed my seat at the desk.

Hermoine quietly changed her clothing once more and then sat opposite me.

"Who is he?" I asked. It wasn't so much a question as it was a demand. She knew it.

"You'll kill him," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Yes." There was no doubt.

"I...I can't let you do that."

"It is no longer your decision to make. I told you. We did things your way. Now we will do them mine. This is not going to happen again. I will not allow it."

"You don't understand-"

"Then make me understand. Explain." I waited, seeing if she would elaborate. Silence stretched between us. She wasn't going to say anything more. Was his hold on her really so strong?

Apparently so. Because though tears fell from her eyes, though I could see that she wanted to tell me everything, throw herself on my mercy, she did not. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head slowly.

"Very well, Miss Granger, you are dismissed. This is the potion you will brew for your tutoring." I handed her the paper and book. Blinking in surprise, she took them. "You will find the ingredients needed are listed in that book. I expect you to have the finished potion on my desk by sundown tomorrow." Without another word, I turned to the papers on my desk. For a moment, she simply sat there. Then she slowly began to gather up her bag. She tucked the book inside and rose to her feet. There was an ever so slight frission of magic as she cast her glamor once more. At the door, she paused as if she wanted to say something more to me. But she didn't. Just when she had put her hand on the knob to leave, I spoke again.

"Why do you refuse to call me Headmaster?" I hadn't intended to ask the question. I wanted to say something either reassuring or menacing, whichever rolled off my tongue first. But once the words were out, I sat there hoping she would answer. She let out a slow breath and didn't turn back to face me.

"You spent so many years hiding. Behind the Death Eater persona, behind your position as a Professor, behind your duty to the order. After the war...that was the first time anyone truly got to see you. The real you, Severus. I don't mean any disrespect. You cannot ever know how much I respect you. But that's exactly why I won't distance myself from you like that. I won't let you just be Headmaster Snape. You deserve more than that, even if you think its not what you want. I see you, Severus. You aren't a Death Eater to me. Or a Professor, or Headmaster. You are Severus Snape, the man. Someone needs to remind you of that. And I'm strong enough to do it. I won't let you alienate yourself from me." Without waiting for me to respond, she left.

I sat there, once more dumbstruck. How did she keep doing that? Leaving me speechless and shaken to my core?

She meant it not as an insult or disrespect, but as a way to stay close to me? To remind me of who I was, deep down? She'd braved my wrath more than once- this woman who'd been brutalized and traumatized- as a way of helping me?

I shook my head, utterly lost.

Now, my plan seemed even more imperative. If she wanted to be the one to remind me of the person I was, then I was damn well going to do the same to her. She wasn't just a victim, a sick plaything for that man in her life. She was Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio, woman who had helped save the entire wizarding world. She'd faced three headed dogs, trolls, a basilisk, dragons, and the Dark Lord himself. That was the woman she deserved to be every moment of every day. She shouldn't ever have to be the frightened, ashamed little thing that I had healed. And the only way to make sure she wasn't ever a victim again was to take the bastard out.

If she wouldn't tell me who he was, I had other methods of finding out. She had been brave enough to decide to keep calling me Severus even when I didn't want her to. I would do the same for her.


	6. Chapter 6

SSHG

She left the potion on my desk at noon the next day. It was, as I expected, perfect. I couldn't fault a single thing about it. The witch was going to pass her NEWTS with flying colors. As if I'd ever had any doubt.

We avoided each other the next few days until she left. I'd already spoken to Minerva and informed her I would be out of the castle during the week. So on Sunday night when Hermione walked to the apparition point just outside the gates, I watched her from my office window. Just when she was about to reach the spot, I disillusioned myself and apparated by her side without a sound. She didn't notice when I touched the tips of my fingers to her wild curls. When she apparated away, I went with her.

We landed in a dark room. As I stepped back and out of accidental reach, I looked around. My breath caught. I had seen this room before. In her memories. We were in her childhood bedroom. The pictures on the walls had changed, and now books were piled in corners and on the nightstand, but the room was otherwise unchanged.

She let her bags fall quietly to the floor and shrugged out of her robes. Under them she wore muggle clothes. She put her hand on the doorknob, paused, bit her lip and waited a moment. I itched to know what she was thinking about. What was going on in that brilliant mind of hers? Then, taking what appeared to be a fortifying breath, she opened the door and stuck her head out. After a beat, she went out of the room and down the hall.

With a quiet knock on the door at the end of the hall, she entered the room.

"Hi, mum," she whispered. No one returned her greeting. Why didn't her mother say hello back to her? I followed her into the room at a distance. When the floor beneath my boots creaked, I cursed inwardly and apparated to just outside the window, hovering above the ground and looking in.

I felt rather like a blasted peeping tom.

Mrs. Granger was sitting up in bed, her eyes open but vacant. She appeared thin and gaunt. Her hair was almost white, despite the fact that she couldn't have been more than 45. I didn't know exactly what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. What was the matter with the woman? Hermione sat on the bed beside her mother and patted the older woman's hand. "How are you, mum? Is daddy making sure you get enough to eat?" She gently tucked some of her mother's hair behind her ear and smiled weakly. "Well let me see if I can find something to feed you for dinner tonight. I know its late, but you look like you could use a little something." She stood and turned to the door. "And when I come back, I'll tell you about my tutoring, and the wonderful surprise Severus had for me when I got back to school."

As she went downstairs, I stared in through the window, utterly shocked. Surprise? Aside from my little outburst, I didn't think there was anything surprising in my actions over the last weekend. And I certainly didn't give her anything surprising. The book hadn't been a present, she'd returned it to me with the finished potion. So what the devil was she talking about?

I was about to move around to another window to see where she was, when she came back into the room. She almost appeared to be...tiptoeing around her own home. But why? Surely whoever her attacker was, he didn't live with them. I still suspected an uncle, but I was convinced that if it was indeed an uncle, her father would have noticed something if the man lived with them. Her father had seemed perfectly respectable the one time I'd met him. A little too straight laced as far as muggles went, but attentive to his daughter certainly. I couldn't believe that her attacker could live under the same roof as her father and his actions not be noticed.

Before I could give it any more thought, Miss Granger sat down on the bed next to her mother and started spooning broth to her lips. Just when I was certain that I'd misheard her comment about a surprise, or the mystery would never be solved, she started talking again.

I could only hover there, grateful my disillusionment charm held up. Otherwise I'm sure that someone would have caught sight of me gaping like a gasping cod. Because the story she was telling her mother was just that. A story. She said that she was so grateful to be given chambers close to mine so that she could see me often throughout the weekend. That when she'd arrived on Friday, I'd been waiting for her with open arms and a gentlemanly kiss. And that that night we had shared dinner together. I had secretly set up a picnic in the astronomy tower with all her favorite foods. I had tucked a her favorite flower behind her ear and told her how beautiful she was. How precious to me. And then that I had held her hand under the table in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day. She actually giggled as she said it. She blushed and said that Professor McGonagal would be so disapproving if she knew, but that neither of us cared.

She spoke about me like I was her...suitor. As if we were lovers, though she certainly didn't say anything more physical happened between us than a kiss. It was the way she spoke that alluded to intimacy. The way her tongue caressed my name. The way she smiled when describing me. She spoke of how gently I treated her, now loved I made her feel.

After a few moments, I couldn't stand to hear any more. I dropped to the ground and paced in her back yard.

What the hell was she saying? None of those things were true. Her quarters were probably as far from mine as the sprawling castle would allow. I had never had more contact with her than was absolutely necessary, and we had certainly never had dinner together in the astronomy tower. It was absurd. So why was she telling her mother those things? Why did she speak about me as if she cared about me and I her?

From what I had seen, I doubted the older woman could even comprehend what her daughter was saying, let alone respond. She couldn't doubt the tale Hermione spun, nor could she voice concerns about her daughter's welfare. So why tell the story in the first place?

My mind raced. Was it at all possible that Miss Granger had something seriously wrong with her? Had all the years of torment broken her? I'd heard of people with whole separate lives in their heads. Even people with entirely differently personalities living in the same body. Was it possible that she'd lost touch with reality somehow? I just couldn't believe that. She was always so lucid, even while reliving her worst memories. I'd been inside her mind and seen its clarity. So what other explanation did that leave?

"She hasn't been getting enough to eat," I heard her say from her bedroom window. I walked over to it, looking up at the window and listening shamelessly.

"She's been getting plenty," a voice I recognized as her father's replied.

"No, she hasn't. You have to take care of her when I'm gone. That was our deal. You promised."

"Yeah, well you went back on our deal last week, didn't you? So I went back on my end of it too."

"You got what you wanted! Don't take it out on her!"

"You think I want to punish you? Hermione, I love you. I want you to be a good little girl for daddy and do what I tell you. It hurts me to have to force you. Don't you want to make me happy? Just do as your told and everyone gets what they want. I've missed you so much, baby. I thought about you every day you were gone. Haven't you missed me too? Be a good girl and show daddy how much you've missed him."

I stood rooted to the ground, feeling my entire world crumble to dust. There had to be some mistake. Some other explanation. Because what it sounded like... it just wasn't possible. I couldn't believe that it was possible.

"On your knees, baby. That's right. My good girl. Open your mouth. Open for daddy." It was the soft sob that I heard that snapped me back into my right mind. I levitated to her window. I needed to be absolutely certain before I acted.

I wish I hadn't looked into the bedroom. I wish I had taken the chance that I was horribly wrong and made a terrible mistake. I wish I had never seen her on her knees in front of her father, his big hand holding her hair in his fist, the fingers of his other hand digging into her jaw as he held her mouth open and forced himself down her throat. She was sobbing and choking, trying to get air but unwilling to fight.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered. Something inside of me broke. Cracked, shattered into a thousand pieces, unable to ever be repaired. But I was acting before I had time to examine whatever it was. I apparated into the room, right behind Mr. Granger. I let myself be disallusioned as I wrapped my right arm around his neck and braced my left hand on the side of his head. Before he even had a chance to react, to cry in alarm or try to struggle, I tightened my grip until I felt my muscles straining and then twisted sharply. His neck snapped with an audible pop. His body went slack and would have crumpled if I didn't still have my arm around his neck.

As soon as his hands dropped away from her, Hermoine sat back, gasping and coughing, not even bothering to try and stifle her sobs. I watched her gaze slide up his body, waiting to see what he would do next. She didn't look into his eyes- she never looked into his eyes. And then she noticed me. She gasped in shock and scrambled back. I dropped her father to the floor. He fell to the floor bonelessly. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle her shriek. I did not spare a glance for the body of that monster. My eyes were fixed on her. On each tear that fell from her huge whiskey eyes. On the bruises that were beginning to form on her jaw where his fingers had dug in.

Each of them was my fault. It pounded in my head over and over with each beat of my heart. My fault my fault my fault. I hadn't imagined it could be her father. I'd discounted the idea from the beginning. Because I'd met the man. Because I couldn't allow myself to believe that I'd see the monster from her nightmares face to face and never noticed a thing. That every summer as a child, she'd left the castle and gone home to him. That I'd sent her home to him. How could I not have seen? How could I not have known?

I wanted to bring him back to life so that I could kill him again. I wanted to tear him to shreds, rip him limb from limb and hear him scream and beg for mercy. I wanted to slowly strip the flesh from his struggling body. But he was dead. The deed was done. Nothing could bring him back. Now there was only Hermione and I in the room.

Her eyes flashed to the body of her father and then up to me. I couldn't tell from the look on her face if I appeared to be an avenging angel or a tormenting demon. I thought at first that she wouldn't speak at all. Then I thought she would scream at me, accuse and hurl insults, anything.

"Severus," she whispered instead. It wasn't an exclamation or an accusation. It was a benediction. Then she covered her face with her hands and fell into sobs once more.

Not knowing what else to do, I let my fingertips touch her shoulder and apparated us back to Hogwarts. I'd originally thought to bring her to my office, but decided to bring her to my private study for more privacy. She didn't even look around to see where we'd landed. Merely curled tighter around herself and continued to cry. Uncertain, I knelt next to her. Would she need comfort? Would she be frightened if I touched her? Without making a conscious decision, I very gently pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her. At first, she stiffened in the embrace, and then as if realizing who she was with, she melted into me. Her face was buried against my chest, my robes and vest absorbing her tears. She kept her legs tucked tightly to her, practically sitting in my lap. I awkwardly patted her back, not having the first clue how to comfort a crying woman. I simply held her, rocking back and forth in that ageless tendency humans have when seeking to soothe.

While she cried, I tried to push all thought from my mind. My anger would do no good any more. There wasn't anyone left to take it out on. My guilt would have to wait. The damage was done and there wasn't' anything I could do to fix it. My fear for her was spent, the danger now nothing more than a corpse on her bedroom floor. And this...tightness in my chest, the empathy that threatened to overwhelm, whatever the thing was that had broken inside of me before, I didn't understand any of them. They confused me and frightened me with their intensity. I didn't want to think about what they meant.

After endless minutes -how much time had passed? Hours?- her sobs dissolved into weak cries and sniffling. Without releasing her, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and offered it to her. She accepted without meeting my eyes and blew her nose. When she tried to hand it back to me, I smothered my sneer and simply shook my head. She clutched it back to her as if I'd just given her a priceless jewel.

What was I supposed to say to her?

"Your _father,_" I snarled the word with all the disdain it deserved, "is dead." I watched her carefully to judge her reaction. She'd loved him. Of course, now I understood. She couldn't help but love him. Children loved their parents. I, of all people, knew that well enough. So would she be angry at his death? Mourn it? I braced for whatever she would do. After a long moment, she merely nodded and tucked her face against my chest again. Would she never cease to surprise me? "Do you...Are you angry?" She drew in a shuddering breath and looked up. Not into my eyes, but at my lips.

"No. I loved him. I couldn't hurt him, no matter what he did to me. But he...he was a monster." She glanced up to my eyes and then back down again quickly. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Look at me, Hermione." I commanded. She cringed, closing her eyes against the thought. But I couldn't let her associate anything with me that she did with him. She'd never looked into his eyes. Whether a sign of submission or fear or disgust, it didn't matter to me. I needed her to look into my eyes. We had connected that way before. I wouldn't loose that connection. Slowly, she opened her eyes and raised them to meet mine. Once they did, we simply stared at each other for a moment. Seeing into the others' soul. "You are safe here with me." I spoke the words from my heart, their deep sound making my chest vibrate. Could she hear the sincerity? The honesty? "No one will _ever _hurt you that way again." _Not while I'm here to protect you,_ I added silently. It was as much a promise to her as it was to myself.

"Thank you," she repeated. "For saving me."

_**EEEEEk! did you love that chapter as much as I did? Please Review!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING READ THIS FIRST!**_

_**This chapter is very emotional, very graphic, and contains memories of the most terrible things Severus ever had to do in the service of the Dark Lord. This chapter isn't for the faint of heart. So take heed, and don't yell at me later about it, because I warned ya!**_

_**Also, for those of you who asked, we get to see what happens to Mrs. Granger in this chapter : )**_

_**Happy Reading!**_

HG

After a while, I realize that we would have to eventually move. Life went on, the world didn't simply stop turning because of what had happened that night. So I eventually stood with her in my arms and went over to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire. It took me a moment, but I disentangled her arms from around me and set her in the chair. Then I went to the other. Her eyes widened slightly, pupils dilated in fear. I rolled my own eyes, but flicked my wand at her chair so that it scooted next to mine. I wanted to feel annoyed at her obvious need but I really wasn't. It still humbled me, honored me, that she felt comfortable enough with me to not only open up to me, but to crave my touch for solace.

She tucked her long- when had her legs become so impossibly long?- legs under her, keeping our knees slightly touching. The part of me that had been forced to be acidic for so long, the Professor, wanted to sneer at the contact and jerk my leg away. But me, the me she saw and refused to be anything else, Severus, took my own kind of comfort in the contact. It gave me a very natural kind of satisfaction to soothe her with my touch. I'd never been one to believe that there was more joy in giving than receiving, but it was a special balm to my soul to be able to console her.

We sat in silence. She stared at the fire, her eyes watching the dancing flames and seeming lost in their writhing tongues. The light reflected in her eyes. Eyes that had seen far too much for her young years. She had always been smart, I'd have to have been an idiot not to notice that. But now she seemed wise. The result of surviving the war? Or surviving her father? Of seeing things, experiencing things that no young woman should ever have to?

In that moment, she seemed ageless. She seemed at both extremely fragile and yet shatterproof. Young in body but old in soul. Strong as steel and soft as cotton. And it was a quiet kind of strength. Innocuous. She wasn't the mountain that stood firm against the wind but eventually eroded away. She was the reed that bent but never broke. She gave and gave but couldn't be broken. And in that moment, I knew that she would be alright. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but someday. She would snap back and once more stand tall. This was just the wind bending her. Soon, she would regain her true form and flourish. And even if more wind came to threaten her, she would merely bend, awaiting the time when the wind would be gone and she could once again reach for the sky.

"Mum got sick when I was seven," she said quietly. I waited with baited breath for her to continue. I hadn't expected her to open up that night, but I was glad she did. "The doctors called it a waking coma. She simply stopped functioning. Her body was fine, but her mind couldn't control it any more. She can eat, but only when prompted. She doesn't speak or respond in any fashion. She sleeps, functions physically, but that's all. I don't know how much brain function she has any more. I remember them saying in the beginning that it was possible for her to hear what we were saying, to understand, but they couldn't say for sure. They did warn that her brain function would most likely deteriorate. So its possible that she used to hear and understand, but she doesn't any more. I just don't know."

Before I could ask about the story she'd told her mother, she went on.

"It happened the first time later that year. Dad...he didn't handle it well. Him and mum had worked together for so long. They were childhood sweethearts. I'm not sure my mum would have gotten into dentistry if it wasn't what he wanted to do. I think...I think he was lost without her.

One night, he'd been out drinking. When he came home, he checked in on me to make sure I was in bed and asleep. I heard him come in, knew he was drunk. There were tears falling down his cheeks. It scared me. To see my daddy crying like that..." She squeezed her eyes shut in pain. "And I asked...asked what I could do to help. How I could make it better." A sob choked off her words. Then she took a deep breath and steadied her voice. "He wanted- he made me-" My heart twisted viciously in my chest as she stumbled on the words. She'd always been so compassionate. She'd simply wanted to help her father, to ease his pain. And the bastard had taken advantage of that soft heart and hurt her. She cleared her throat hoarsely and continued. "I thought it would never happen again. He told me how much he loved me, how sorry he was that he'd hurt me. He bought me presents and lavished attention on me. I thought that was the end of it. Until the next time he came home drunk.

It happened again one night. I didn't ask him what I could do to ease his pain this time. Instead, he asked me how much I loved him. He said he felt as if he'd been abandoned by everyone. That no one cared for him any more. When I insisted that he still had me, that I would always love him...he told me to prove it." Her eyes were haunted with the memory. I could see the flickers of her past like dancing shadows on the wall. I could see the phantom of her father using his daughter's love against her. Twisting something that was supposed to be beautiful and innocent in order to slake his repulsive desires. "It wasn't long after that and it became a regular occurrence. He always apologized for hurting me. Reassured me that he loved me, needed me. Told me I was his whole world and he couldn't live without me. Told me what a good girl I was when I didn't fight too hard. I started to believe him. To believe that I must do what he said and cooperate in order to be a good daughter. And then...my letter came."

He was furious at first. The thought of something, even school, taking his precious little girl away from him enraged him. It took months of begging, pleading and...other things...to get him to agree to let me go." She swallowed hard. "I agreed to do whatever he wanted while I was home. I tried my hardest not to fight him at all. To give him no reason to be mad at me. No reason to punish me. And I came here." She looked around, taking in the walls of my study as if they exemplified the entirety of the castle, the wizarding world. "And it was all so...magical." With a rueful twist of her lips, she laughed. "Its just what someone like me always dreams about. A world of magic where anything is possible. Endless things to learn, adventures to have. It was paradise. I remember that first year, Harry was so sad to be going back to the Dursleys. I knew what he meant. I wanted more than anything to remain at the castle. Safe in my bed in Gryffindor Tower. Far away from any of the ugliness of my real life. I actually felt sorry for Harry, did you know that?

Not because his Aunt and Uncle were so mean to him, though of course I hated that. I felt sorry for him because they didn't love him. And I thought, at least daddy loves me. Because he did terrible things to me, he hurt me so badly, but he always made sure to remind me that he loved me. Harry never had that from anyone." After a moment, she sighed. "I think at first it was that love that made me stay silent. I knew that daddy would be mad if anyone found out about what he did to me. It was part fear, part misplaced allegiance. As I got a little older and learned about things like sexual abuse, I realized that I shouldn't feel obligated to protect him. I know all the logical aspects of it. I've read every book on the subject. But I found that much like with flying, book smarts did no good. Knowing logically that I shouldn't feel beholden to him didn't stop the feelings."

Then, one summer I decided that I'd had enough. I was going to use my wand and stop him. I was going to be strong. What he was doing was wrong, and it needed to stop." She laced her fingers together in her lap and twisted them. "That summer was the first he talked about letting mum die. I know up here," she pointed to her head, "that if he let something happen to her it would be totally his fault, not any fault of mine. But that didn't stop the sense of obligation I felt to her. He told me it was time I started earning my keep and that he couldn't be expected to work, care for mum and raise me without anything in return. So the deal was that I got to keep going to Hogwarts, and he would keep taking care of mum...and I wouldn't use my wand on him or ever tell anyone what happened at home."

She reddened, obviously humiliated, but bravely kept going. "You know, he never made me promise to stop fighting all together. I think that he got off on it. That it was half about the struggle for him. And sometimes, I gave him quite a fight. Once or twice, there were furrows on his face from where my nails had raked him in an attempt to get away. Of course, I paid dearly for those blatant acts of rebellion. I wanted to hate him for hurting me like that. I wanted to despise him. It would have been so much easier if I could simply not love him any more. But I couldn't. Instead, I learned how to brew a contraceptive potion, and how to perfect my glamors."

I actually heaved slightly. The thought of a thirteen year old Hermione having to brew a contraceptive potion to as not to be impregnated by her rapist father brought bile up my throat. How many times had she come into my class wearing a glamor to hide bruises left there by him? How many times had I belittled her or berated her while she still bore the physical evidence of abuse? Guilt assailed me openly. How had I not seen it? War or no bloody war, I should have been able to spot it and help her.

"When we got back from hunting horcruxes, when the war was over and we all went home, mum almost died. When I got back, she was so gaunt that I could count her ribs. Her eyes were sunken and lifeless. He'd basically stopped caring for her. And he threatened to let her die if I ever left like that again. I was so frightened for her life that I let him do whatever he wanted to me. I didn't even fight. I simply cried."

And then, I got the letter. I could come back and finish my schooling. I would only need to be gone three days a week. I could still be around enough to make sure mum was ok. So I begged again. Begged for weeks. And we made a deal. If I stayed pliant and tried not to fight him, he would take care of mum while I was gone. I went along with it, just so happy to be able to come back to Hogwarts..."

"Until last week." It was the first time I'd spoken in a long time, and the sound of my voice seemed to snap her back to the present. She flashed me an ashamed smile.

"Yes, until last week. After you talked to me...I decided to put a stop to it. That enough was enough. I still couldn't bring myself to turn my wand on him, but I told him no. I fought him." She shook her head at the memory. "It was a stupid thing to do. If I wasn't prepared to hurt him, I should have known that nothing would stop him. He...he enjoyed me fighting him. He wanted an excuse to punish me more than he had already. He goaded me, told me that no one would ever believe me if I told them, that no one else could possibly ever want me now, that he would kill any other man who came near me. He wanted to make me just angry enough to fight him more. To- to turn him on. And even with everything he did to me, it still wasn't enough to make me turn my wand on him. How twisted is that? I wanted to stop him. I wanted you to be proud of me, to not look at me as if I'd allowed it to happen. But when it came right down to it, I couldn't truly hurt him. I just made it more enjoyable for him. Gods this is all so fucked up!" She buried her face in her hands. I gave her a moment, collecting my thoughts so that I didn't just blurt out the first thing that came to mind. I'd caused much of this scenario by doing just that. I never wanted to cause her pain again by my careless words. When I felt I could speak clearly, I very gently wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. She looked up at me through her tears.

"First of all, I hope you realize just how wrong he was about no one believing you or wanting you. That was simply another way of controlling you. I expect you are too bright to believe his filthy lies. Secondly, I never have, nor will I ever, look at you as if you allowed this to happen. You are the victim here. None of this is your fault. I...I reacted badly at times. But know that I felt no disgust with you, no anger at you. You have my utmost respect." I went on even though she looked baffled. "And lastly, I want you to know that I understand why you couldn't hurt your father. Why you couldn't simply turn your wand on him and be done with it. Are you listening to me, Hermione? Really listening? _I understand._ There isn't any reason for you to be ashamed."

"How could you understand," she whispered disbelievingly. I watched the fire for a moment before answering her question, unsure how much to reveal. Then I cleared my throat and told her the truth.

"My own father was not a prime specimen of parenting."

"Did...did he-"

"No, no nothing like what you went through. But he did enjoy a dram or three a night. And when he'd imbibed, he thought the best way to manage his family was with his fists. For so long, I didn't understand why my mother stayed with him. He was so awful to her, to me. When I asked, she said it was because she loved him. He'd spent years systematically stripping her of every ounce of self preservation. Convincing her that she needed him. That she couldn't live without him. That she was the reason he got violent. If only she would be a better wife, he wouldn't have to hit her." I sighed, remembering all the anger that filled me in those years. "For so long, I hated her for believing him. I wanted her to be strong and stand up to him and leave. I didn't understand how she could still love him after everything he'd ever done to her."

Then, one afternoon, he was drunk and mad. He came after me. I'd learned about the unforgivable curses earlier that month. So when he pulled back to hit me, I put my wand to his throat. I looked into his eyes and wanted to do it. It would be so easy, just to say the words and end his existence."

"Did you?" Hermione sounded half as if she hoped I had, and half as if she couldn't bear the thought of me going through with it. Slowly, I shook my head.

"No, I didn't. And do you know why?" I didn't wait for a response. We both knew where this was going. "Because I realized in that moment that I loved the bastard. Despite everything he'd done to me, he was still my father. And I couldn't simply turn off that love like a switch."

"So what did you do?"

"I convinced him that I had. I made him believe that I hated him with all my heart. It wasn't that hard, because it wasn't that far from the truth. And once he truly believed that I hated him, he feared me. Because bastards like that do use fear to get what they want, but more often, they use love. No matter what someone has done to us, love is so much stronger than hate. So they use it against their victims knowing that they can make us do things with love that they could never drive us to with hate."

I don't blame you for loving your father. You had to; it wasn't an option. And I understand that you couldn't kill him. I am sorry that I made you feel as if I was judging you for your decisions. I wanted you to see through the act. To be able to rise above it. To realize that the kind of 'love' they offer is a sham. That it's not worth fighting for. But how could I ever blame you for falling prey to it when I myself was a victim of it?"

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Severus." She looked as if she was in pain. Over me? I couldn't believe that she'd just been through so much and yet she was feeling pain on my behalf.

"Don't be. It happened a long time ago, and I've had time to heal. Which also gives me the ability to honestly tell you this: it won't ever fully go away. Some day, you'll realize that the 'love' he offered you wasn't really love at all but selfish violence in stead. He used your love for him against you. True love doesn't do that. Realizing that is the first step to recovery. Then you'll start to mend. You'll learn that love doesn't have to be tainted like that. And you'll find that your forced affection for him is fading and being replaced simply by memories. Memories that no longer have the ability to harm you because you are no longer in the clutches of the one who hurt you."

"Do you feel that you deserve love?"

I knew that a flash of despair crossed my features before I schooled them. Her question caught me off guard and left me totally unable to make up a lie.

"No. But I've lived a long life, Miss Granger. My childhood was only one small part of it. I might once have felt that I didn't deserve love because of what my father did to me. Or that I didn't deserve love because I had loved a bastard like him and it frightened me. But now I realize that those things are triviances compared to the things I did in the service of the Dark Lord. So no. I do not believe I deserve love. But it hardly has anything to do with your current situation."

The silence stretched between us again, broken only by the pop of the logs in the fire. She wasn't twisting her fingers together again at least, but now she stared at me with her eyes burning more brightly than the fire in my hearth.

"I do not believe that, Severus Snape. There is nothing you could do to convince me that what you have done as a spy makes you unworthy of love." I wanted to scoff. To laugh at her. She had no idea the things I'd done. How could she make that judgment? She couldn't. And it made me angry that she would even say it. I didn't need some silly chit giving me false hope. Because that's exactly what happened. Something inside of me jumped at the possibility that she was right. That I would be allowed forgiveness. It was a cruel joke. She had no idea...

"Even if I've raped a woman?" Suddenly I needed her to take her words back. I needed her to be repulsed by me. I needed to squash that tiny blossom of hope rising in my chest. I needed it more than my next breath. Because I couldn't survive letting that hope grow only to realize that I'd been right all along. She gasped, horror written plainly on her face. Then she shook her head, denying the truth.

"No. You wouldn't ever do that. I don't believe you."

"It is true, Miss Granger. And it didn't just happen once." The agony on her face made my heart clench. But why allow her to have some childish fantasy about me as a hero? Why allow her to plant seeds of doubt within me about the things I'd come to believe about my self worth?

"You...you raped a woman? Women? Forced yourself on them? T-took pleasure in hurting them?" Her breath was coming in quick gasps and she seemed only an instant away from full fledged panic. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and tried to sort out my thoughts. How selfish was I that I had told her such a thing just because of my own weakness? It wasn't fair. And I was reminded yet again of what a bastard I was. I let out a sigh.

"Yes, yes, and no." Her head snapped up and she glared at me. Before I could even so much as blink, she had pulled her wand on me. For a split second, I thought she was going to kill me. And curiously, my thoughts weren't on defending myself. I thought, _finally...at least it will be at the hands of someone I respect._ So when she pushed into my mind instead of killing me, I was totally unprepared. She sifted through my memories with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. It was unlike any other mental intrusion I'd ever felt. I'll admit, me, the most skilled occlumens in the world, was held paralyzed by it. I'd spent years guarding my mind against subtle intrusion. The way Voldermort would slide insidiously among your memories. I could hold certain ones back, I could push others to the fore. I could even block him out completely, the way a seamless pane of glass holds back smoke. But against a battering ram that I couldn't have prepared for, my pane of glass was wholly useless.

Before I could stop her, she found one of the memories she was looking for and yanked it up.

_He stood on the edge of the ring of men, watching their fun and keeping his face totally passive. Not one single stray emotion crossed his features. He stared on coldly and stonily. The woman was young, young and beautiful. Her only crime was being of muggle birth. But here, it was the most horrendous sin. They sent torturing spells at her, watching her writhe, hearing her scream, taking pleasure in her pain._

_When she stopped screaming and began to passively accept the torture, they lost interest. Doholov stepped forward with a wicked glint in his eye. He knew that Dohlov only got that look when ready to kill. Before he could think he acted. Felt himself striding forward and kneeling before the Dark Lord. He kissed the hem of the robe and waited for the command to rise. Voldermort held a halting hand out to Doholov and gestured for Severus to go on._

"_It would be a pity to waste her body, my lord," he murmured in a casual fashion, even though he was screaming inside._

"_Oh?" Voldermort seemed mildly interested._

"_You have risen above your baser needs, my lord, but some of us...haven't mastered them yet. Her mind is clearly broken. Her body is simply a shell now. But a pretty shell."_

"_You would sully yourself with a filthy mudblood?!" Doholov sensed the possible loss of his kill. His revulsion was clear in his words. Severus shrugged._

"_Maybe the weakness came from my muggle father. But it matters not to me who her parents were- only what's between her legs. If it pleases you, my lord," he kissed the hem of the dark lord's robes again, "I would like to be allowed to have her." Voldermort studied him carefully. Fear ran through him as those penetrating eyes took him in. He walked such a tightrope that he knew could snap at any moment. He lived in constant knowledge that if he was ever discovered, his life would be forfeit. And it would not be an easy death. So why was he risking exposure simply to save this woman?_

"_Severus, you have always been so faithful. I cannot fault you for your weakness. I recall a time when I myself felt the occasional stirring of lust for an unworthy partner. Go ahead. But since you have denied Doholov of his pleasure for the sake of yours, I want you to provide us with some entertainment." The words were accompanied with a slight, evil smile. Severus felt his gut clench. How had he thought he would get away with hiding her away and not hurting her any more? This had become a test, and he would have to pass it or all would be lost. Maybe...maybe when he was done he could still save her. "See if you can make her scream again for us, Severus," Voldermort sneered._

_He went over to where she was lying on the floor. His body quelled at the thought of what he was about to do, but he forced it into submission with a quick, wordless spell. He nudged her onto her stomach with the toe of his boot. She turned over listlessly, bonelessly, mindlessly. Was she really broken inside beyond repair? Would it really matter at all if I saved her life? And if she wasn't broken, would what he was about to do be what finally broke her? He pulled her arms behind her back ruthlessly, conjuring ropes and tying them tight._

_When he pulled her to her knees and shoved her skirt up, she seemed to realize somewhere inside her traumatized mind what was about to happen. She tried to struggle. With her arms tied behind her back and her face and shoulders flat on the floor, it only made her squirm in what could be described as enticingly in any other scenario. He clamped his hand on her hip, keeping her from pulling away._

_With everyone watching, he couldn't do a lubrication spell without them noticing. There wasn't any way to make this easier on her. He could hear them waiting with baited breath. Forcing his hands not to shake, he unbuttoned the placket on his trousers and brought his flesh to hers. With a fervent prayer for forgiveness to whatever gods or spirits would listen, he thrust into her._

_Her back arched in new pain and she screamed. The crowd applauded. The dark lord smirked knowingly. He continued to thrust into her, fighting the urge to be sick, fighting the urge to kill everyone in the circle and then himself. He felt as if he would never again be clean. As if nothing would ever wash the stain of this sin from his soul. He deserved death. He knew that. If hell existed, then there was a special ring of torments reserved for rapists. Idly, he wondered if there was any torture that could be inflicted upon him that was worse than this. Worse than hearing her beg and cry for him to stop. Feeling her writhe in pain beneath him. Would this be his hell? And eternity of forcing women and forever feeling this crushing shame? What a fitting torment it would be._

_When enough time had passed to please the dark lord, he faked a quiet climax and pulled out of her. When he looked down, there was a streak of her blood on his cock. Somehow, impossibly, it was worse than all the blood on his hands. How could this feel worse than the times he'd been made to kill for Voldermort? How much more could his soul take? He took sharp breaths to keep from vomiting. He must always be in control. He must never give sign that he was so repulsed by their actions, by his own actions, that he wanted to scream until his throat was raw and bloody._

_This next part must be done perfectly. If he made a mistake, if he overplayed his hand or underplayed it, then everything would be for naught. What he'd just done would be for nothing. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't. He let a satisfied smirk twist his lips._

"_I hope that my performance was pleasing, my lord," he said with an inclination of his head._

"_By all means, Severus," he blinked slowly and gave a short, cruel laugh. "You amaze me with your ability to bring her back from the brink only to give her more pain. It is an art form you have perfected. Since you have given us such pleasure tonight, I will let you dispatch her."_

"_Of course, my lord. Thank you." He turned to the woman, who had once more collapsed, unable to hold herself up. Her skirt was still up, exposing her. "Then again," he turned back as if the thought had just crossed his mind. "She was a good fuck. If it would please you, my lord, might I keep her for a while? Its been a long time since I had a pliant woman gracing my bed."_

"_Pliant isn't the word I would use," Doholov said from behind him, clearly still mad._

"_Ah, but that only increases the pleasure," Severus replied smoothly. "After all, what is pleasure without a little pain?" Voldermort laughed again. It started out short, but grew into a full and long laugh with his head back. When he once more looked out at the Death Eaters, he smiled._

"_You see, my children, Severus truly has perfected the art of pain and suffering. You are all too quick to kill. Your torments are monotonous. They break so easily. It is a true talent to keep the mind on a razors edge, to push them to madness with the pain and then pull them back. And the agony is all the sweeter when they are pushed to the brink again. Yes, Severus, you may have her. I can only imagine the torments you have in mind for her. Take what pleasure you will from her. In so doing, you become an ever more talented and faithful servant."_

_Not allowing relief to show on his face, Severus levitated the woman and walked beside her limp body until he was outside. Then he apparated them away. They landed inside a dark house. Immediately, Severus started casting healing spells on her. Then he went to his cabinet and got out pain potions and calming potions. He poured them down her throat and continued his healing. Repairing the damage the Cruciatus curse had cause her muscles as they tensed in agony. Healing the places a knife had split her skin. And finally, repairing the damage he had caused between her legs. _

_He was sweating and trembling when finished, but she was at last sound of body. The only thing left to do was see if she could ever again be sound of mind. Was she truly broken, as the Longbottoms had been? He placed his wand at her temple, hoping against hope. Her mind was a mass of pain and suffering. _

"_Obliviate," he murmured. The worst of the pain receded. Her mind began to clear as he pulled out the torture, the agony, and lastly, the brutal rape she'd suffered. Once it was gone, he sent her into deep, dreamless sleep. She would never fully recover from it, he knew. The lingering effects might be subtle- jumping at loud noises, fear of black haired men, or they might be bigger than that. He might have taken her ability to ever truly trust again. But she was alive. She could go on with her life._

_He apparated her to a place he knew her body would be discovered and she would be cared for. Then he sat alone in his house, his head hung between his knees. Because he realized that the suffering had only just begun. He knew that the next time a woman was brought in for the cruel pleasure of the Death Eaters, this would happen again. He would tell the dark lord that he'd broken his last pet with his cruel pleasure. He would ask to be given another. And another. How many women would he rape? How many times would he force himself on a woman? He would spare their lives by sacrificing their bodies and his own soul..._

Hermione pulled out of my mind with a gasp. She was shaking, her eyes wild and tormented. I fought off the waves of guilt by reminding myself that I'd not chosen to show her that memory. She'd wanted to see it and she'd gone into my head uninvited. Even still, I couldn't help but want to soothe her. I didn't try and touch her, though. I knew what she'd seen. She knew the truth about me now. She didn't know the exact number of women I'd raped, she hadn't seen all their faces, but she knew that I'd done it not once, but over and over again. She wouldn't want me anywhere near her. She certainly wouldn't want me to touch her.

I could see the horror reflected in her eyes as the flames cast their glow on her face. She slid to the floor at my knees. Startled, I could only watch. She took both of my hands in her own, laid her head on my lap and cried. I didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to react to this? I'd expected hatred, disgust, terror. Not this.

"Severus...I'm so sorry." Her broken words tore at me. I loosed one of my hands from her hold and tipped her chin up.

"Why?" I couldn't keep the anguish from my tone. I felt so lost...

"For what you had to do to save those women. For what it cost you to return their lives to them."

"How can you say that? I raped them! You...you of all people should hate me. Despise me with the very core of your being."

"Despise you? I can't despise you! You were raped just as surely as they were. The horror you felt at violating them mirrored the horror they felt at the violation. And you submitted yourself to it willingly to save their lives! You put yourself through that over and over again..."

"I raped over and over again," I said in a dead tone.

"You took no pleasure from the act. I've seen inside your mind, Severus. You cannot hide from me. I know the man you are. I ache at what you had to go through, what you willingly went through for the sake of others. Your whole life you've been hurt- in every way possible- so that you could help others. People who would only scorn you for your sacrifice. They don't understand. They can't realize what its cost you. But I do. No words will ever be able to express the sorrow I feel for what you went through. But you're here now. You survived. And Severus...you _do_ deserve love. You deserve everything life has to offer you."

I groaned and shut my eyes against her words. She was voicing every secret hope I'd ever harbored. That someone, finally someone would realize what the years as a spy had done to me. Someone, just once, would thank me for what I did. That someday I could escape the burden of responsibility and guilt and be free of it. That someone could understand how the things I'd done had twisted my soul. And that they would say that I was still worth loving.

The words I had so longed to hear, and they hit my like poisoned arrows to my black heart. They should have been a balm, soothing my torment. Instead they pierced me through and through. I couldn't believe them. She couldn't be speaking truly. It wasn't possible. I wanted to scream at her. To rail against her words and the hope they brought me. Because as she knelt there at my feet, placing her head oh so trustingly in my lap, the one little seed of hope she'd planted earlier was spreading and growing into a huge blossom of hope in my chest. It stole my breath and made my heart pound. This hope that would crush me when it was extinguished. And it would be. It would wither and die, and I would be left hollow.

She laid her head back down, her tears falling to my trousers. I felt my hand lift and stroke her hair, my fingers sliding over the wild mass of curls. I felt myself cradling her head gently, stroking her tears away with the pad of my thumb. She still had my other hand clasped tightly in hers, unwilling to let me go. I wanted to push her away and I wanted to pull her closer. We stayed like that for I don't know how long, two tortured souls taking refuge within each other.

After a while, I gently disentangled my hand from her and raised her head so that our eyes met once more. There was no judgment in them. No reproach. Only understanding. How it tore at me.

"What I do or don't deserve, Miss Granger, is not the topic at hand here. I will contact an acquaintance of mine and have your mother placed in the psychiatric ward of St Mungos. Its possible that there are advances in medicine that the healers there could use to help her." At her startled gasp, I put a finger to her lips and went on. "Do not get your hopes up. It might be that nothing more can be done for her. But at the very least, she will be properly taken care of. You will never have to fear for her again."

"Severus...I..._thank you_. You cannot know what that would mean to me." She looked adoringly at me with those honey eyes and I shifted, uncomfortable. Then a troubled look marred her features.

"What is it?" I asked gruffly. She shook her head ruefully, seeming a little afraid to tell me. "Miss Granger, I believe we are past all discomfort with each other. Tell me what is bothering you."

"He's still there...at my house. Dead, but still there. I...I don't want to go back." She looked up at me as if expecting censure. "Childish, isn't it?"

"No, its not. Of course you won't be returning to that house. He will be...taken care of. And someday, when you feel up to it, you can sort through the estate. But for now, you will remain here at Hogwarts. Correct me if I am mistaken, but you do not need this tutoring for your NEWTS. You seem more than capable of taking them and passing with exceptional marks. I will speak to the board and arrange to have you take them within the week."

"But Severus...once I take them, I won't be a student any longer! Where will I go?"

"Did you not just hear me, Miss Granger? I have said that you will remain at Hogwarts. You are welcome to stay in the castle for as long as I am headmaster, longer if I have any pull among the staff."

"What will I do?" She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I couldn't help but want to relieve that stress. Maybe that was what made me speak those next words.

"You can be my assistant."

She looked up at me quickly, as if she couldn't believe her ears. I fought to keep color from rising in my cheeks at her blatant perusal of me. As if testing the sincerity of my offer, she sat back on her heels and repeated, "Your assistant?" I only nodded. "What would you have me do?"

"Many of the duties as Headmaster are tedious and monotonous. Certainly you could handle the heaps of paperwork that cross my desk. I have no doubt that your mind could be put to use aiding the organization of my office and the delegation of duties throughout the castle. And of course, there would be spare time for any independent research projects you wish to pursue on your own."

"Independent research projects?"

"Surely there are things you want to do with your time. What career did you imagine yourself having?"

"Honestly, I never gave it any thought. I...I felt as if I would never escape from _him._ I didn't think I had a future to dream about." She cast her eyes down, staring at my boots. I lifted her gently.

"Miss Granger, return to your seat." She did as I asked. "Now that you do have a future, you will need to start thinking about you want for it. You shall remain here in the castle until such time as you wish to leave and continue your life elsewhere. Decide what you like. What you want from your life. What you could do as a career. I'm sure no door would be closed to you."

"But for now...I can stay here?"

"Yes." At my word, it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She sagged back into the chair, a smile gracing her lips. When she opened her eyes, they were shining at me. I shifted, uncomfortable at what I saw in them. And I recalled something that I felt needed explanation. "I do, however, have a question for you before I can allow you to become my assistant." She blanched and the fear returned to her. Cursing inwardly, I amended quickly. "Have no doubt, you may remain in the castle no matter how you answer. But it might be more prudent for you to work with Minerva or Poppy..."

"I would rather work with you," she said quietly.

"Then tell me, when you were speaking to your mother earlier tonight...The things you were telling her- about you, and about me. Why did you say them?"

_**Uh-oh, Mione has some 'splainin to do! (I've got Lucy on my mind haha, blame my sister. For those from other countries who have no idea what I mean, google I Love Lucy!) Well what did you think? The chapter is one of the longest in the story, but I just couldn't separate any of this out. I hope you loved it! Review and tell me what you think! Also, the last chapter for LTL is going up today for those of you following that, so check it out, and don't forget the Author Q&A that's coming after!**_


	8. Chapter 8

HG

She colored and cringed.

"...You heard that?"

"Yes. I did." I said nothing else while I waited for her explanation. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but I needed to know. I didn't believe that she was of unsound mind, especially now that I had spoke to her at length about her attacks. But it was imperative for me to find out if she had warped me into some romantic hero in her mind as a coping mechanism. And if she had, how it would affect her. I had no desire to cause her further harm by enabling a fantasy. If it had been a coping mechanism, it had been effective and I would not judge. But it needed to end if we were to work together.

"It didn't start until after the war," she began. "I'd always talked to mum, just in case she could hear me. I had told her about you over the years, of course. Mostly how much I was determined to show you I could succeed. To prove myself to you. Yours was the only class I was truly challenged in, because you never accepted anything less than absolute perfection, even in the most difficult potions. And your classes were even more of a challenge because I couldn't just follow the recipes exactly. Your potion text that Harry used is proof of that. Great potion making requires trial and error. It requires you to question the status quo so to speak. And that forced me to think outside my comfort zone.

Once the war was over, I told her about how much I understood about you once the truth came out. How much sense everything made. Your demeanor, your lifestyle, all of it. I...I felt sorry for every time I'd ever thought badly of you. I tried to defend you to Harry and Ron when we were younger, but I'm ashamed to admit that the night Dumbledore died...I believed that you had truly left the light."

"That was the point, Miss Granger," I interrupted softly. She shook her head.

"I should have known better. You deserved that much for all the times you'd protected us. I should have questioned it. I should have figured it out. And then, when it was all said and done, you seemed to withdraw from the world. I didn't blame you, but I couldn't help but want to know you better. I told mum all the things I wanted to ask you. When things got really bad at home, I imagined what the answers would be. What you would say to me. One thing led to another. I wanted to be the one you opened up to. To care for you... and I wanted you to be the one to care for me. Because you have always protected me. And I thought...you...if you knew, you would protect me. You would never hurt me. It started out as idle daydreams that I would tell mum to distract us both from what was really going on. And it evolved into this fairytale fantasy that I told her as much for my sake as hers.

I know its ridiculous. You don't need to tell me. I know that you aren't a knight in shining armor who came to rescue me. I'm not a damsel in distress. A man like you wouldn't want a woman like me, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to expect you to spend your life protecting me. It just eased some of my pain to be able to pretend, even for the few minutes that I would tell the stories to my mother, that it was all true. That we had ended up together and I was blissfully happy with you. I'm sorry I used you like that. I never thought you'd ever find out."

She spoke the last few sentences in a rush, clearly ashamed of herself. I felt my heart twist again. How much abuse could my heart take at once? It was exactly what I'd feared, but I couldn't fault her for it. She'd needed a safe haven, even if just in her own mind. I could not begrudge her that. She knew that it wasn't real. She knew that I wasn't some prince charming. And then, some of her words sunk in. I looked up at her, startled.

"What do you mean a man like me wouldn't want a woman like you?" I knew I spoke more sharply than I intended, but I couldn't help myself.

"I..." She shook her head, clearly thinking the answer obvious. "You know what I've done. Of course you wouldn't want someone like me. Its not like I would have anything to offer someone like you."

"Before I tell you just how stupid the sentence "you know what I've done," was, tell me, precisely what do you consider "someone like me?"" I lifted one brow at her. She colored slightly and cleared her throat.

"You know. You're...you. The hero of the wizarding world. Brilliant, loyal, fierce. Headmaster of the best wizarding school in the world. And now that Dumbledore is gone, you're probably the most powerful wizard alive." I lifted the other brow in surprise. She thought me more powerful than her beloved Potter? As if she could read my thoughts, she continued. "Not that I don't think Harry will rival you in skill and natural talent when he gets a little older, but for now, your experience and knowledge puts you leaps and bounds ahead of him. Any woman would be lucky to have you. Not that I think you would put stock in such petty things."

"You are right about that, at least, Miss Granger." I leveled my gaze at her and spoke deliberately. "First I will tell you what an utter fool you are if you honestly think that you can classify your attacks as 'what you've done.' You didn't _do_ anything. It was done to you. The former implies fault. The latter does not. Second, as for your classification of "someone like me," I cannot conceive of what has put those ideas into your head. You and I both know I am no hero. Anti-hero possibly, but I will never be considered a hero, no matter what the gossip rags say. I will not discount my intelligence, nor my loyalty. Both have been proven. As for fierceness, I would say that your peers would consider my nature more akin to savage or cruel." I held up my hand to stop her when she would protest. "And in the matter of who would be more powerful, I shan't presume to even guess. Let us pray there is never any cause to ever find out." I knew that Potter couldn't hold a candle to my knowledge and expertise in dark spells and curses, but the boy certainly had a knack for survival. "Now, I would like to turn your words against you, since you seem incapable of seeing yourself properly. Any man would be lucky to have you. Do not for one second think this is idle flattery, Miss Granger. I assure you it is not. Despite what has been done to you, you handle yourself with a grace and poise beyond your years. Your brilliance is unrivaled in all the history of this school. You spoke of heroes. I challenge you to decide how long Potter would have lasted against the Dark Lord without you to aid him. You know you are beautiful now that you've grown into adulthood and those ridiculous teeth. Even if your hair is still a horrendous mess most of the time."

She reached up and touched her hair, a small smile playing on her lips. I wondered if she believed me. And even if she did, if she could truly take my words to heart. I assumed that she already knew the truth of what I said intellectually, but convincing herself to believe them in her heart was another matter. It wasn't the kind of thing that five minutes with an old professor could fix. It would take a long time to undo the years of emotional abuse she'd suffered and regain her confidence. I could only hope that I would be the tip of the iceberg. That I could start her on her way.

"Do you really believe those things about me?"

"I am not a man prone to false sycophancy, Miss Granger. You should know better than that."

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the crackling of the logs and the hiss of the flames. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but after the things I'd seen in her mind before I wasn't prepared to risk legilimency. Instead, I waited. I am very, very good at waiting.

"Severus?" She finally whispered my name. I turned my attention away from the fire and back to her. She drew her knees up to her chest, still keeping just barely in contact with me. For lack of something better to do, her fingers toyed with the hem of her jeans. "Do you think...that someone like you...and someone like me..." She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. I considered making her spell it out before I answered, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I sighed.

"Miss Granger, you do not need a man to come save you. You need time to heal. You need help to regain your confidence and start you life over. I can offer you those. You have built me up in your fantasy as someone who can rescue you from all your troubles. As some perfect partner for you. Not only am I far from perfect, but it would be a gross abuse of my position to take advantage of your...fantasies about me. You are vulnerable and impressionable right now. I would be a bastard of the worst sort if I allowed you to become attached to me romantically."

"I guess I'll always be that bushy haired know it all from your potions class," she murmured with a dejected sort of smile.

"You haven't been that little girl for quite some time in my eyes. I do not look at you and see the chit who couldn't keep her hand down in class to save her life. That has nothing to do with my answer. I see you as the beautiful, talented woman that the rest of the world sees. But that does not change the situation."

"If we lived in another world, where I hadn't been...where I was whole and untouched, where you had never needed to save me and I had never needed to invent my fantasy...?"

"I find you frustrating, impossible, too generous for your own good, insufferably smart, and much too pretty for my liking." I sighed. "In the world you spoke of, you would be just the sort of witch I was irresistibly drawn to." It was true. Spirits help me, it was absolutely true. If I wouldn't be taking horrible advantage of her, she was exactly the type of woman I would want to try to woo and win. Not that I would know the first thing about wooing a woman. Or what I would do with her once I had her. But she drew me the way catnip draws a Kneazel. She grinned. "But no matter what would become of this," I gestured between us, "in another world, we live in the real world. And if you feel you cannot work with me because of...your coping mechanism, I will assign you to Minerva or Poppy. I do not wish to stall your healing further by facilitating a fantasy."

"No, sir. I can handle it. I know reality from fiction and I won't let it get in the way."

"Very well then. I suggest you retire for the night then. Its been a long day. I suggest you use the rest of the week to do any additional studying you think you might need. If all goes as I hope it will, your NEWTS will be this weekend, and you can begin your assistant duties next Monday. Does all that sound satisfactory to you?" She nodded eagerly. I couldn't help but warm to her enthusiasm, but of course I didn't let it show. "Off to bed then."

She rose, started toward the door and then stopped. I worried for a moment that she might try to kiss me. But when she turned, she didn't move to take a step towards me.

"Sir, could I trouble you for a Dreamless Sleep potion?"

"Of course," I replied, headed to my stores. "I will give you a small supply if you can assure me you know the dangers of its addiction."

"Dangers of its addiction?" Her voice was oddly serene. It gave me a strange sense of foreboding. I paused with my hand on the cabinet door, looking over my shoulder at her. But what was the cause of my unease?

"Dreamless Sleep is dangerously addictive. Becoming dependent on its use can be harmful and potentially deadly. Aside from the danger of becoming addicted to any substance and the consequences of withdrawal, the body begins to crave the emptiness Dreamless Sleep provides. The brain can turn on itself and stop functioning fully in order to try and return to the Dreamless state. If left unchecked, Dreamless addiction will begin to cause lapses in attention, loss of focus, loss of will to live, and eventually Living Death. A state of perpetual Dreamless Sleep. And after a time, the Dreamless Sleep even stops the mind's ability to regulate unconscious functions such as breathing. The body shuts down." My words made her shiver, but I didn't want to sugar coat it. It was simply too dangerous not to tell her all the possibilities in the starkest light possible. Her mind was too brilliant to waste to Dreamless addiction.

"I see," she murmured. I took a few bottles of the potion from the cabinet and handed them to her. "I will use them sparingly then. Do you have any suggestions for alternatives?"

"If you mean other ways to get rid of the nightmares, I cannot suggest any constructive options. If you find any, feel free to share them with me. I shall do the same. For now, I've found a quiet walk on the ramparts works best." I didn't add that sometimes I debated on just walking off the edge and into oblivion. She didn't need any more darkness in her life. "And if...if you need to talk, floo to my study. I shall leave the pass open to you." What possessed me to offer that, I don't know. The words were out before I could consider them. Somehow, her smile of gratitude made it all worthwhile. I only hoped I felt that way when she was flooing into my study at two a.m.

"Thank you for everything," she said softly.

"You are welcome. Goodnight, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight Severus."


	9. Chapter 9

SSHG

As expected, Hermione passed her NEWTS with flying colors. Her scores were unrivaled in all of Hogwarts history. Not that I thought for a moment that it would be any different. The joy lighting her face when she found out will be forever etched into my memory. She looked exquisite, wrapped up in the rapture of her success. Her eyes sparkled, there was a healthy color to her cheeks, and her smile made it seem as if everything was right in the world.

The next week she began working as my assistant. If I had any fears that our odd intimacy would create discord in our working together, I was wrong. Hermione was everything I could ever hope for in an assistant. It seemed as if she could anticipate my needs before even I was aware of them. She was methodical, meticulously organized, driven and ridiculously pleasant. Over the next few months things began running more smoothly than they had in years. Paperwork that had been severely neglected under Dumbledore and myself was finished and filed away. Events that I'd been putting off organizing were planned out and executed flawlessly. She drew up the schedules for nightly rounds, lunch supervision and general detention duty. Not only were the schedules complete, and for the first time, back ups lined up in case of emergency or illness, but Miss Granger had also somehow learned which staff members worked the best together. Schedules were arranged so that those who rubbed each other the wrong way were never on the same shift, and those that interacted productively were almost always placed together.

After a time, I couldn't remember what I'd done before she came along. And I began to fear the time when she would move on to something else. I told myself at first that it was simply because I didn't want to go back to trying to handle it all on my own again. But the truth was that I'd become attached to her.

We shared tea together in the morning while going over my schedule for the day. I began to look forward to seeing her smile first thing in the morning. When we worked through lunch, she would always arrange to have food delivered for us, a thoughtful gesture that led to me filling out properly for the first time in years. Before she left for her quarters every night she would ask me if there was anything more she could do. Most nights I would simply shake my head no and bid her goodnight.

A few nights I invited her to have a drink with me in my study. We spoke of things that mattered and didn't matter. Things we cared about and didn't. If we were in a light mood, we talked about what new sweets they were selling in Hogsmead or what new Weasley Wizard Weezey the students would be trying to sneak in that semester. If we were in more serious moods we spoke of the delicate nature of human souls or the subjective nature of judgment.

I learned her thoughts on things great and small. Even though we didn't always agree, I never found her thoughts to be ridiculous or her points to be merit-less. She forced me to see, in that gentle, insistent way of hers, other sides to arguments. I saw things in a whole new light. For the first time I had someone I could debate heatedly with and still respect when finished. Her bright mind sharpened my own.

Sometimes, we would speak of things that had happened to us in our sordid past. Those nights, we would have an extra drink and take comfort in the companionship of someone who understood and hence had the unique ability to commiserate honestly. There was no judgment, no accusation. We accepted the darkest parts of each other without question.

One night a few months after she'd started working for me, Hermione had a few more drinks than usual as she told me of her first attempts at sexual experimentation. I didn't want to hear anything that had the words Weasley and Sex in the same sentence, but I was actually grateful that what she'd gone through hadn't killed her desire to know about sexuality. She told me about her determination to know if sex could be pleasurable. About Weasley's fumbling attempts to please her. About how her failure to relax made her feel as if the option was forever closed to her.

I was relieved that she'd never actually slept with the Weasley twit, but it broke my heart that she'd thought she would never be able to experience sex as it was intended. Just because some inept teenager hadn't been able to create a safe, comfortable environment for her and lacked the skill to show her the joys of sex didn't mean that it wasn't possible for her. When I told her as much, she simply laughed and said that Ronald wouldn't appreciate being slandered about his sexual prowess. I said that I didn't give a fuck what he thought about my views on his inadequacy. But I admitted inside that it would have been nearly impossible for him to succeed in that situation.

Without prior knowledge of what had been done to her, he couldn't prepare for the necessity of comforting her. He couldn't know that he would need to seduce her slowly, entice her body to mindless pleasure before he could proceed. And a boy of his age simply wouldn't have the skill to relax her adequately to allow her to climax. But I didn't tell her that. The thought that she might decide to see if he'd honed his sexual skills made me angrier than I cared to admit.

"So you really think that someday I'll be able to have sex? And enjoy it?"

"Of course. It is simply a matter of finding an appropriate partner."

"And where do you suggest I find a sexually skilled man who will be sensitive to my insecurities and fears, who I can trust fully not to hurt me, and who has the ability to teach me?" She blinked at me innocently. My brow furrowed for a moment, and then I glared at her.

"I am going to pretend that I did not understand what you were just implying, Miss Granger. Such a thought would be improper and quite scandalous. Not to mention that I'm certain a wizard of your own age would surely be preferable for such an experiment."

"What if I don't want a wizard my own age? What if I want one who's older...more experienced." She grinned cheekily at me. I wanted to groan out loud. Why, oh why did she have to do this to me? It was hard enough to see her every day, work with her side by side and keep my thoughts neutral about her. I hadn't been lying when I'd said that she was just the type of witch I found irresistible. And as she blossomed before me, I couldn't help but want to pluck her. Hide her away in the secret garden of my heart for only me to see and appreciate. Only me to inhale her sweet scent and view her beauty.

"Then that is certainly your choice," I managed to say. "But of course, I would be an inappropriate choice for such a venture."

"Why?"

"I believe we have discussed this before, Hermione. You still look to me for comfort and safety because of the fantasy you concocted while coping with your situation. What you think you may feel for me is nothing more than phantom emotions wrapped around a fictionalized version of me. Even if I wasn't your boss, even if I wasn't a man who had the blood of many on my hands, even if we were both in positions to pursue what we want with no repercussions, I am not the man for you. Find another."

I wanted to do the noble thing. I wanted to do right by her. She'd been so horribly wronged in the past that she deserved for someone to act with honor towards her.

So I told her to find another.

And lived to regret those words.

_Be careful what you wish for._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hello all- a few notes: to flbanshee, never fear, they didn't leave Mrs Granger alone in the house for long. Don't forget, Severus promised to have her moved to St. Mungos, and he keeps his promises. He returned for her after sending Hermione off to bed with the Dreamless Sleep potion. To my guest reviewer worried about Severus being self depricating and therefore slightly predictable, I do have to warn you that he will be that way for a bit of this story. He's an easy character to give that trait to, and I do agree that its been done often. If you're looking for something a little different- perhaps a Snape that's willing to take what he wants and damn the consequences- might I suggest you read The Cure? Trust me, the Snape in that story is plenty forceful with what he wants ; )**_

_**Thanks for your patience, and I'll try to have another chapter up tomorrow as well! Happy Reading! ~Don't forget to review at the end! Have I mentioned how much I love your reviews?~**_

SS

His name was Mikhail. He'd come to a few meetings with the board of directors. He worked as the assistant to the minister (a post vacated by Percy Weasley) and took his job very seriously. So seriously, that at first he didn't even bat an eye in Hermione's direction. But how long can a woman like Hermione go unnoticed for?

The first time he came up to her, I glowered at him until he scampered back to hide behind the minister's skirts. The second time, he braved my glare and dared to speak to her. When he tried his miserable hand at blatant flirting, I sneered, "Surely you have better things to do with your time than harass my assistant," and swept from the room, knowing that Hermione would follow.

I knew I was in trouble when he flat out asked her to accompany him to the Three Broomsticks for a drink that night. I wanted to hex him into next week. But when Hermione looked up at me with those big brown eyes of hers, as if seeking approval or permission, I merely grumbled, "what you do with your social life is none of my concern, Miss Granger."

I do believe that my words hurt her feelings. But what was I supposed to say? 'No, don't go out with him, stay with me because I've decided you are the only witch I want to spend the rest of my miserable life with?' Over my dead body. Snark and snide had been my armor for so long that I would have felt naked with out them. Too vulnerable. And I never wanted to feel vulnerable again. So I grit my teeth and held my silence while she blinked up at me, swallowed hard, and turned back to Mikhail with a forced smile. I heard her agree to go, heard the slight tremor of fear in her voice, and hated myself for not putting a stop to it.

With only one final glance back at me, they left together.

I spent that evening getting drunk. I don't get drunk often, but there have been a few moments in my life that merited it. Knowing the witch I was hopelessly addicted to and yet could never have was off gallivanting with some dubious young man was one of them. Of course, I knew logically that she would be fine. She'd always handled herself with perfect composure. Even when Draco had tormented her in school, she'd never let her terror show, nor allowed him to get to her. Looking back, I felt a crushing guilt the likes of which I'd never known for allowing, and yes, encouraging, his torment of her. I to this day have no idea how she withstood it.

She admitted to me on one of our long talks before the fire that she'd always been able to push it back because she knew there were more important things at hand. The first time someone at Hogwarts had been outright cruel to her had been the Weasley boy, and it had sent her sobbing to the washroom for hours. After they became friends and she learned of the threat to Harry and the wizarding world, she simply decided that they needed her to be strong. She learned to bury her pain so that she could focus on aiding them.

The _why_ I understand. Its the _how_ that I still don't get. The fact that she was capable, no matter the circumstances, boggles my mind. And it was that inner strengthen I was counting on that night. As much as I wanted her to come home to me, to tell me she would never date again, I wanted more for her to be able to face her demons and conquer them. I wanted what was best for her, and knew that I wasn't it. No matter what my silly heart said. I reminded myself again and again that this was what I'd wanted for her. I was the one who'd told her nothing could happen between us. And if she'd come to my office right that moment and thrown herself into my arms, I would have said it again.

But she didn't come into my office that night. When I saw her the next day, she seemed perfectly fine. She went about her duties, smiled when appropriate, and acted wholly normal- if a bit cold- to me. I decided it was only fair since I'd obviously hurt her feelings the day before. And though I would never have admitted it to her, I did admire her ability to separate her emotions from her work. I had no doubt that if we had a drink together that night she was planning on tearing into me. But during the work day, she was a model of professionalism.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we did not share a drink that night. Or the next. Over the course of the following weeks, we only met in my study twice. The first time, I asked her how things were going with Mikhail. When she started telling me about all the nice things he'd said to her and the pretty things he'd bought her, I made some snide comment about not needing to know every time the ingrate smiled her way. She'd fallen silent. Of course I knew it had been a stupid thing to say. But all I could think of was how I could never be able to say 'pretty' things to her. It simply wasn't in my nature. And I'd never think to buy her ridiculous little feminine gifts. A new set of quills or a book on potions, perhaps, but flowers? Chocolates? Never.

So all I could think of was how inadequate I was in all areas romantic when compared to her suitor. It wasn't a pretty feeling. And it made my words ugly and callous. Before I had a chance to come to my senses and apologize, she had returned to her room.

The second time, she admitted to me that she was ready to try and push the limits of her comfort physically with him. After the disaster of last time, I schooled my tongue and said nothing. She said that she wanted to finally know what everyone was talking about. Wanted to see for herself what it could be like. I knew she didn't love the idiot, but she said that she felt comfortable with him. That in itself was a huge step in the right direction. Grudgingly, I told her so. She beamed at me as if I'd just told her those blasted NEWT scores again. She seemed to excited, so happy, and I couldn't stand watching it. Knowing where it would lead. I fled.

In a very dignified way of course. Made some excuse about needing sleep more than I needed the firewhisky, and swept out of the study with my usual swish of fabric and billowing robes.

That Friday night, I made the mistake that almost cost us both everything.

_**Don't loose faith in me just yet, dear reader... I'm a romantic at heart, and Severus is the only one for Hermione 3**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Next chapter, my lovelies! Oh, and for those of you who asked, The Cure, the ff I mentioned in my last chapter, is actually another story of mine. You can find it on my page : )**_

HG

I was utterly unprepared for her to come into my study in tears. I blinked at her, shocked, as she flung herself into her chair and sobbed. As always, she was arranged so some part of her body touched mine, even if only slightly. I was so filled with emotions, so quickly, that I didn't know what to do first. I wanted to find whatever had made her cry and blast it to oblivion. I wanted to pull her against my chest and rock her gently. I wanted to howl in triumph that she came to me with her troubles.

I did none of those things, in the end. I clasped her hand (the most I would allow myself) and asked her what was wrong.

"Mikhail," she replied simply. My blood began to boil.

"What did he do to you?" I growled, fully prepared to drain the life from the toad. She shook her head, tears still falling down her cheeks.

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm the one who..." She sobbed, pulling my entire arm to her and clutching it like a lifeline. It was the most awkward position I'd ever been in, but I couldn't bring myself to push her off.

"Sshh, Hermione, just tell me what happened. Everything is alright now."

"No its not. It won't ever be."

"What happened," I prompted again. She took a shuddering breath, clutched my arm to her chest, and started to tell me her story.

"We went to his flat. I said something about being ready to move our relationship forward...and, gods, if only I were a normal fucking person, none of this would be a problem. I wouldn't have..." She buried her face against my arm, forcing me to either go to my knees in front of her or risk loosing my limb. I chose the former. Kneeling in front of her, I brushed her wild hair away from her face with my free hand. She sniffled and looked at me with tear filled eyes. "He was only doing what he thought I wanted. He started kissing me, his tongue was in my mouth and I started to panic but I kept telling myself that this is what I'm supposed to want, and then his hands were everywhere, I kept flinching and when he finally asked why I lied and told him I was cold. He said he would w-warm me up. Then he told me to be a good girl and get on the bed." I inhaled sharply, knowing full well the effect those words would have on her. I wanted to kill the bastard for putting her through that. I could have happily strangled him with my bare hands. "I...I froze. I panicked and I was fighting to breathe and he thought I was turned on, and when I started trying to push him away finally, he must have thought I wanted to...to be rough or something. He pinned my arms down and started kissing me again." My heart twisted so sharply for her that I felt it as an actual pain in my chest. I kept my hand light on her cheek when what I really wanted to do was curl it into a fist and find that idiot so that I could put my fist through his face. "I bit his tongue," she whispered. It was so soft that I almost didn't hear it. A very small smile of pride crossed my face. Good for her. If the fumbling idiot didn't know the difference between panic and arousal, if he didn't know to make damn sure his partners wanted to struggle and weren't simply trying to escape him, a sore tongue was the least of what he deserved. "He pulled back so sharply that I fell off the bed. He was standing over me, angry, and I'm sure he was confused, and all I could think to do was escape. When I tried to go past him he grabbed me. So...so I hexed him."

She let out one final breath and then dissolved into sobs again. I continued to stroke her hair, to let her clutch my arm to her chest. I let her cry it out. These weren't silly feminine tears that I could scoff at. These were the tears of a traumatized woman needing an outlet for the emotions tearing through her. They were her only relief at that moment, and I did not begrudge her them. When her sobs finally began to quiet, I tipped her chin up so we were face to face.

"Miss Granger, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" I kept my voice steady and low, betraying nothing. She wiped her tears with her free hand and shook her head.

"I'm fine. A little sore from falling on the floor, and tired, so tired, but I'm fine."

I summoned a calming draught and a pain potion. I had the feeling that more minor aches and pains would show themselves now that her adrenaline was abating. I gave them to her, and she drank them without protest. Then she snuggled deeper against my arm.

"Look at me," I commanded softly. Slowly, her eyes raised to mine once more. "What hex did you hit him with? Will he need medical attention?" She looked horrified at the thought.

"Of course not! I cast the Hindrance Hex at him. He won't be able to accomplish much of anything for a few hours, but he shouldn't be harmed in any way. I just wanted the easiest way for him to be unable to stop me from leaving. I didn't want to hurt him."

"For the sake of your conscience, I'm glad. But Hermione, you would have been well within your rights to put the fear of Gryffindor into him before you left."

"But he didn't..."

"Listen to me. No matter what you said, no matter what you did, you have the right to put a stop to it at any point. You tried to get him to stop and he didn't. Misunderstanding or not, what he did was wrong. The fact that he was too stupid to notice your reluctance does not change that. And if he is too inept to be able to even kiss you without slobbering all over you, then he isn't the man you want to explore your sexuality with. You need to find someone who you can be totally comfortable with. Someone who isn't looking for a quick fumble in the dark. Someone with enough skill and experience to show you just how beautiful it can be."

"Someone like you?" Her whisper turned my blood to ice. My heart stopped, then started slamming in my chest. Is that what I was doing? Describing myself to her? Making myself the only option for her? It wasn't my intention. I craved her, but I knew that I couldn't have her. And I wanted her to be whole again, even knowing that she would have to find someone to help her get there. Even knowing that person could never be me.

"No, Hermione," I finally said. "Not me." She stared at me for a long time, looking at me with those eyes that could see right into my black soul. Our breath mingled, our hearts beat in tandem. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and my eyes followed the minute movement.

"Kiss me," she breathed. My small gasp was inaudible, but I knew she noticed. She pulled me closer by my arm, pleading with her eyes.

"Hermione," I began, ready to tell her all the reasons why I couldn't. As soon as I could remember a single damn one.

"Please. Kiss me. Show me what I should expect. Show me what I deserve." She was so beseeching, beckoning so sweetly, that I felt myself inching forward. My mind kept screaming at me that this was wrong, so wrong, but I kept hearing her last words over and over again. _Show me what I deserve._ She had no point of reference for that. She had never had anyone treat her with the tenderness, the respect that she deserved. She could go from one dimwitted idiot to another, and finally come to believe that their slobbering, clumsy attempts at foreplay were the only things out there.

And spirits help me, I simply wanted to kiss her. I wanted to be the one to show her all the things she'd been missing out on. Not simply to instruct her, but to cherish her. Adore her the way she was meant to be adored. Not just for her, but for me. So before I could weigh the consequences, my traitorous body had moved forward. I sat up on my knees, cradled the back of her head with my free hand, and stroked her lips ever so softly with the thumb of the hand she was clutching. I stared deeply into her eyes as I moved slowly, so slowly forward. I turned my head slightly to the side, knowing that my nose would crush hers otherwise.

After a heartbeat that seemed to last an hour, I brushed my lips across hers. It was a ghost of a touch, a whisper of contact, butterfly wings brushing her skin. Then I did it again. And a third time. I didn't allow my eyes to close until hers did. I kept watching her carefully, watching for any sign of fear or discomfort. Only when she melted against me and allowed her lids to flutter closed did I let my own eyes close in pleasure. I deepened the kiss only slightly, pressing our lips together for a few moments longer than before, keeping the pressure still light. I directed, and let her add what she wanted to the kiss. After a moment, she pressed harder against me. I slid my fingers into her hair, pulling her back just a little when she rushed. Once she relaxed into a gentle pressure, I dared to open my lips slightly and run my tongue over the curve of her bottom lip. Not some wet, messy lick, but a very soft brush of contact.

Thinking she knew what I wanted, Hermione opened her mouth to me. But instead of thrusting my tongue inside like some inept teenager, I stayed right where I was. I kept our lips pressed together, let my tongue only venture to touch her lips every so lightly. She caught on quickly, following my lead and letting her own tongue hesitantly explore my lips. When our tongues brushed, we both gasped. The contact was electrifying, hot and dizzying. She moaned, clearly feeling a pleasure that mirrored the pleasure coursing through my own body. I slid my tongue further along hers, tasting her and reveling in the touch. She clung to me, our lips moving against each other as our tongues twined and danced. It was beautiful. That is the only word to describe it. A seductive meeting of flesh and pleasure and desire. A dark tangle of emotions and needs and hopes that neither of us wanted to escape.

When she scooted forward on the chair until she was pressed against my erection, I snapped back to reality. My first urge was to say to hell with the real world and keep kissing her. But it was a fleeting impulse. My second urge was to tear myself away from her and storm off. To escape as quickly as possible. But I knew the damage such an exodus could do to her psyche. She needed to know that she'd done nothing wrong. That I wasn't pulling away because of some inadequacy on her part.

Our kiss had been everything it should be. Tender and soft, passionate and strong. She deserved better than to have it ended so abruptly. So I slowly withdrew my tongue from hers, pressed a few more soft kisses to her closed lips, and sat back. She finally opened her eyes and they were shining with some emotion that I couldn't bear to name. I caught my own breath and waited for her to do the same.

When we both returned to earth, I took my seat once more in my chair and watched her. She looked at me in awe and pressed her fingertips to her mouth as if unable to believe it. Then, a smile broke over her face. A triumphant, ecstatic smile.

"That, Miss Granger, is what you should expect. That is what you deserve." My words were roughened with desire and sounded much more evocative than I'd intended them.

"Now I know what I've been missing," she murmured, still pressing her fingers to her lips. "Severus, that was...wonderful. It was everything I could have hoped for. You...I...Would you show me more?" Her happiness almost weakened my resolve. But I held firm.

"No." Her breath caught and she searched my eyes. "That is not my place. I am glad that I was able to show you the beginnings of what you should search for, and I am glad that you enjoyed it. With the right person, you will find that all things sexual will be just as pleasurable. But I am not that person."

"But...why?"

"Miss Granger I have no intention of listing all the reasons again tonight. We have enumerated upon them before. Both of our pasts discounts us as suitable partners for each other, in addition to our current situation."

"You don't want me?" She sounded so confused, so hurt, that I ached. But I covered my pain by standing and turning to the door.

"That is not what I said. But what I do or do not want does not change the situation. Please return to your quarters. We both have hall duty in the morning."

"I'm aware of that, Severus. I'm the one who made the bloody schedules." She had stood and was facing me with an anger fueled by hurt. "You know that all of those things can be gotten past if you truly wanted to. Is this about your self deprecation? About my inexperience?" She was desperately searching for another answer, any answer that didn't involve me simply not wanting her. And I knew that if I told her the truth, she would use it to get what she wanted. I couldn't let her see how I felt.

"Please return to your quarters," I repeated in my most authoritative voice.

"Is that an order?" she hissed. I blanched. She knew that I never gave her orders. How could I, knowing how her father had treated her? I slowly shook my head, wishing things could be different.

"A suggestion, a request- but not an order. Stay here if you wish." Then I turned and walked through the door that was enchanted to lead to my room. I did not give her a chance to ask me to wait, to say anything more at all. I closed the door behind me and leaned heavily against it.


	12. Chapter 12

SSHG

The next day, we went about our business as if nothing had happened. We were both very good at that. At pretending. At acting normal when we felt anything but.

For two days we successfully danced around the subject of the kiss and my rejection of her offer for more. Then, Monday night -the night, it didn't escape my notice, that she used to return to her father's home- she had a nightmare. It wasn't the first she'd ever had, and I was certain it wouldn't be the last, but it seemed like one of the worst.

She'd only taken me up on my offer to floo directly into my study twice before. Both times she had been shaking and pale from fear. They had both been not long after she'd arrived at the castle to stay. Both times, I let her talk through the fear. I listened when she told me what they had been about, the memories that simply wouldn't leave her alone. I gave her a calming draught, told her that things would get better, and let her fall asleep in my bed.

In hindsight, the last part wasn't the most brilliant thing I've ever done. I should have never allowed her into my private quarters if I wanted to keep even a veil of propriety between us. I should have let her fall asleep in the chair and then taken her back to her rooms. But she'd looked so dead tired that first night, so alone as she sat in the chair and stared into the flames, that all I could think of to do was tuck her into my bed and allow her to drift to sleep again and promise to stay by her side. Of course I wasn't in the bed _with _her. I sat up in a chair beside the bed and watched her sleep. When predawn light would begin to filter through the waters of the Black lake and throw dancing rays on my floor, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to her own bed.

This night, I had no intention for anything different to happen. She fell into my arms when I strode into my study. Her tears woke me more surely than any stimulant could have. I ushered her to her chair and listened as she recounted her nightmare to me.

This one was different. It started out as a memory; her father holding her down on the bed. But when she looked up, it wasn't her father's face she saw, but Mikhail's. Her entire body shook as she recalled the nightmare. What could I say? That she might have nightmares about every man she let into her life? That they were unavailable? That wasn't what she needed to hear. I wouldn't lie to her and say it would never happen again, but I assured her that it was perfectly normal and that someday, the nightmares would fade.

When she had calmed, and her tears dried, I led her through the door to my room and tucked her into my bed. As I wrapped the blanket around her, she caught my arm and looked up at me.

"I just want to feel something besides fear," she whispered. I swallowed thickly and nodded my understanding. When she didn't release me, I sat beside her on the bed, watching her. Slowly, she pushed up to her elbows and pressed her lips to mine. I couldn't breathe while she kissed me. I was awash with conflicting emotions and didn't know which to act on. I reveled in the sensation of her lips against mine, the sweet possession of the kiss. I was repelled by the thought that she was using this not as a way to express emotion, but as a tool to dispel her fear. I felt shame that I wanted this, longed for this. Angry that she'd been driven to this point in her young life.

She reached into my lap, clumsily trying to rub her palm against me through my trousers. With both hands against her shoulder, I pushed her gently away from me and then caught her wrist to prevent her from touching my groin.

"No," I said firmly.

"Please," she begged. My heart broke. Shattered into a million little pieces. How could she be in my bed, begging me to do this to her? Pleading for me to take her? It was so twisted up in my head, I struggled to remember the reasons why I couldn't, why she needed to find someone else. But I knew that if I did this, if I took advantage of her this way, I would never be able to live with myself.

"No," I repeated. Her eyes searched my face. I wanted to hide from her gaze. She could always see right through me, see inside me so clearly. I didn't want her to see the emotions warring within me right then. A challenge came into her gaze.

"Tell me you don't want me," she demanded. I froze, wondering if I'd heard her right.

"What?"

"Tell me you don't want me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don't want me and I will leave you alone. I won't press this any farther. Tell me!" She looked wild and fierce, strong and fiery and everything that I wanted. But I reminded myself that it was all bravado. Inside, she was scared. Frightened that she would never find someone she could trust enough to give her body to. Terrified that she'd been broken beyond repair. She'd come to my rooms because a nightmare had driven her here, not any desire for me.

"I do not want you," I whispered. I looked her right in the eye as I said it. I felt the conviction of my words because they weren't a lie told for her sake or mine. They were the truth. A partial truth told to save us both from a mistake neither of us would be able to recover from. I didn't want her- like this. I didn't want her in my bed out of fear or curiosity. I wanted her here because of desire and affection. And no matter what I tried to convince myself, that's not what this was. Any affection she felt for me was either lingering sentiments from her fantasy, or gratitude for taking her away from her father. Not real affinity for me. And I refused to take advantage of her confusion.

Pain flashed so clearly across her face that I wondered how she kept it all inside. I wanted her to rail against me, to scream at me, to hit me or hex me. Anything. But she didn't. She turned her pain inward and let it eat away at her soul. She nodded once and got out of my bed. As she padded softly across the room, I realized that I wouldn't be able to do this twice. I was hurting her to protect her because she'd been hurt and it was all such a mess... I knew that I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of hers and keep my resolve again. If she came to me once more, I would give into the demons riding me and I would have her. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't take that chance.

"Miss Granger," I said softly into the darkness. I heard her pause. "Don't come back." Her breath caught, and I could feel how much she hurt as if she was emanating it in waves. She didn't say anything, but stayed standing there for a minute, barefoot and in her nightgown, lit only by the ethereal glow of moonlight shining through the water. Then she turned and left my room, pulling the door closed softly behind her.

_**Dun dun dunnnnn...not to worry, the plot thickens in the next chapter. Review bribe me into posting it tomorrow?**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Have I mentioned lately just how awesome all you people are? I've loved each and ever review! Thank you thank you thank you for your feedback and for reading this story. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations; there's plot coming your way!**_

SS

I had never been more grateful for her professionalism as I was that next day. She showed up in my office on time, composed and ready to work. Nothing changed in our daily routine. The only difference in our lives overall was the end of our evening chats. She never once came to my study for a drink, nor did I offer. I felt the loss of her companionship deeply, but it wouldn't be fair to ask her to draw an arbitrary line in the sand of where we were allowed to socialize and where we weren't. So I left her alone.

The next week there was another meeting with the board of directors. Hermione stayed faithfully by my side through the whole thing. After, when Mikhail tried to come up to her, I smoothly asked her if she would confirm our plans for tea with the director of activities later that week. Once she was across the room, I turned on Mikhail.

"Listen to me, you little tosser, and listen well. If you come near Miss Granger again, if you look at her, if you even breathe her air, I will show you precisely why I was the right hand of the Dark Lord for twenty years. Your dalliance with her is at an end. If you speak to her again, or- spirits help you- accost her again, you will have me to answer to. Do I make myself clear?"

"Accost? The witch bit me-"

"I said," I hissed, "_Do I make myself clear?_" This wasn't the tone I reserved for errant students. Nor the one I used when speaking to idiot members of the ministry. This was the tone I'd perfected during my service to Voldermort. The tone that reflected all the evil I'd ever done. All the damage I could cause. All the pain I could inflict. Mikhail paled and backed away on shaking legs.

"Crystal, sir," he whispered hoarsely. I glared at him, daring him to say more. He wisely remained silent. Then I turned and went to Hermione, leaving him there frozen in place in fright.

It was a full week after that before I started to notice the change in Hermione. The subtle differences. She would be writing something, her quill flying across the page at lightning speed, and then suddenly it would stop. I would glance up and see a blank expression on her face. I chalked it up to distraction and dismissed it. Then, things began to slip. She forgot the have the schedule ready for the next week. The paperwork began piling up once more. Once, I caught her staring off into space, her face a mask of peace. Emptiness.

I began to worry. I'd never known her to be careless or disorganized. I didn't care about having to make up the schedule myself, nor did I care if the paperwork rotted away on her desk until kingdom come. What scared me was the change in her personality. In her core traits. This wasn't a subtle alteration over time. It was as if she was simply letting go of life. The worst part was, I had a suspicion as to what was going on. And it frightened me to my very core.

I considered simply confronting her. But would she feel attacked and shut down? I thought about questioning her gently. But she would be able to get around that. Instead, I decided the best way would be to catch her in the act. So I waited until that Friday night and sat, disillusioned, in the supply closet.

If she wasn't doing what I thought she was doing, I was going to feel absurdly foolish. Even still, I was praying that I was wrong. Unfortunately, at a quarter to midnight, the door opened and then closed quietly. I heard the softly spoken _lumos _and watched as my assistant went through the little bottles and jars, pulling out ingredients. When she gathered all the ones she needed, she went back into the hallway and flooed back to her rooms.

I made myself visible again with a sigh. Yes, I had been right. The ingredients she'd taken were for Dreamless Sleep. There could be no mistake. No misunderstanding. She was using the potion to escape her nightmares. And worse, she was addicted. I flooed into her rooms behind her, prepared to do whatever it took to stop her.

I thought I was prepared. I thought I knew what was coming. I thought I had it under control.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I came in through the fire and found her sitting on the bed, ready to swallow the potion. I was at her side in two long strides, taking the bottle from her hand and replacing the stopper. She blinked up at me in shock, opening her mouth to say something. She never got the chance. Because as I looked around for a table on which to set the potion, I realized that almost every surface in the room was covered with little bottles. They littered the nightstand and a few had fallen to the floor. They were scattered on the shelves and lined up in neat rows on her worktable. A few were even spilling out from under her pillow. And almost every one of them was _empty._ I simply stared at her in shock.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I finally roared. She blanched back, startled by the vehemence in my voice. "Are you trying to drive yourself insane? Or to kill yourself? If so there are easier ways to go about it!" I took a handful of the empty bottles and threw them onto the bed beside her, utterly disgusted.

"I...I needed to sleep."

"I _warned_ you about the dangers of Dreamless Addiction! I told you not to become dependent on it! How could you possibly think this was safe? That this was acceptable?"

"What other choice did I have?" She stood up and faced me toe to toe. "You're the only one I trust enough to go to, and you told me not to," she hissed. Then her face hardened again and she pulled the vial out of my hand. "I'd rather waste away from Dreamless Addiction than go to bed every night just to return to that hell!" She tried to open the bottle and drink it, but I caught her wrist and stopped her.

"How often?" I asked. She struggled to get her hand free, not looking me in the eye. "How often?" I demanded. "How often have you been having the nightmares? How often have you been taking the potion?" When she still didn't answer, I shook her slightly. Her head snapped up to mine.

"Every night! Every night since...since you told me not to come back. I take the potion two or three times a night to keep the nightmares at bay."

It was my turn to blanch back. I stared at her in shock. Not only that she'd been taking the potion so often -how had she made it as long as she had?- but that she'd been driven here by _me._ My hand fell away from her wrist, but she didn't put the bottle up to her lips. I thought back to the night she'd left my room. Back to the moment I'd realized that my will to resist her had fled. That if she came to my bed once more, I would take her. And in my stupidity, in my attempt to _protect her_, I'd told her not to return. Failing to see that in so doing, I was cutting her off from her only escape from the nightmares. Turning her away from her outlet. Closing her off from the one avenue available to her for seeking relief.

I had thrown her out into the darkness and left her alone.

I'd abandoned her.

How could I be angry that she'd turned to Dreamless Sleep for sanctuary? I'd left no other option open to her. Guilt, crushing, staggering, searing guilt fell so heavily on me that I physically staggered under its weight. I sank into the chair behind me, dropping my head into my hands as shame scalded me more surely than boiling oil could have. This was my fault. All my fault. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so cruel?

"You will never take Dreamless Sleep again. If we are lucky, with a little time to recover and a few other potions to counteract the effects, there won't be any lasting damage. Gather what things you need."

"What?" She sounded as if she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I wanted to do both.

"Put together a bag. Enough to see you through a week or two. You will not be returning to your quarters for at least that long." I stared at the floor, keeping my tone flat and dead. She drew in a shaky breath, and then began to do as I asked. In a few minutes, she came back to me with a bag over her shoulder. I rose and pulled her to the fireplace, then flooed us to my rooms. When we stepped out of the hearth, she looked around and blinked in surprise.

"What are we doing here?" she asked incredulously. I turned and studied her with my arms crossed.

"You were expecting someplace else?"

"I...I thought you were throwing me out. Of the castle." She twisted the bag in her hands. I sighed, wondering just how much I could possibly mistreat this young woman. Just how much cruelty one person could take. How could I keep hurting her without meaning to?

"I am a man of my word, Miss Granger. I believe I told you on your first day here that you were welcome in the castle for as long as I am headmaster here. That has not changed."

"Then what are we doing here?" Without answering her question, I took her bag from her hands and emptied it on the bed. She started to protest, but I ignored her. Sifting through the clothes, personal items and papers, I collected a dozen vials of Dreamless Sleep hidden in pockets, pouches and even a bottle stuffed in the lining of her shoe. She finally gave up trying to stop me and stood wordlessly as I gathered them all together and threw them into the fire.

"You will be staying here until you get through the withdrawal."

"I thought I was no longer welcome here," she said bitterly.

"Miss Granger," I sighed and sat down, pinching the bridge of my nose in an attempt to stem the headache building. "I will not even try and pretend that this entire situation is anyone's fault but my own. I spoke thoughtlessly and started you on this path. For that, you have my sincerest apologies. There is nothing I can to do rectify the past, but I will be doing everything in my power to set the future right. If I could take away the pain that will assuredly come during the next few weeks, I would. Rest assured that I will be suffering along with you none the less."

"You can't protect me from myself," she whispered. I brought my head up and studied her. Had she truly given up on life? Was I too late to save her?

No. I would fix this, even if I was the last thing I did. I rose slowly and went to stand before her. My hands rested on her arms lightly. I searched her eyes, willing her to see the steel in my own.

"Yes, I can," I growled. "And I will."

"That's not your job."

"Yes it is. It has been since the day you walked into my life. It always will be."

"I'm a duty you can't escape?"

"You're a privilege I won't give up," I replied honestly. Her mouth dropped open in shock. I smiled sadly at her and pushed her jaw closed with one finger beneath her chin. "I've been hiding from you, Miss Granger, because I know just how weak I am. I know just how selfish I am. But I cannot hide any longer. I cannot live with the guilt of loosing you, so I will have to live with the shame of taking you."

"Do you mean...?"

"I will hold you through your withdrawals, I will drive away your nightmares by whatever means necessary. You will come out the other side of this. And once you have...I will give you what you want, if you still wish it. I will teach you everything there is to know about sexuality. I will teach your body to expect pleasure, not pain, from a man's touch. You have always been an apt pupil; I expect this will be no different."

"What if I can't learn?" There was a slight tremor of fear in her voice. I lifted my hand to stroke her cheek with my fingertips.

"Impossible."

_**Did you see that coming? I know a few of you did! Oh, and I wanted to mention, I have heard your requests for longer chapters: I'm not ignoring you, I promise. I haven't been writing this story with chapters, per se, but scenes. Which is why chapter 3 had 5k words, chapter 9 only had 1.5k, and chapter 7 had 7.5k. I know it makes for uneven chapter balance, but I decided with this story it was more important to break up my scenes properly than have chapters uniform in length. The next few segments are going to be pretty short, I believe so maybe I'll post them all together for you all. After that, I promise some longer chapters as we get into their "lessons" ; )**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**I'm stringing these scenes together for you guys-otherwise they'd be pretty short. Enjoy : )**_

SSHG

That night she fell into sleep quickly. Her mind had been conditioned by the potion to sleep quickly and easily. It wasn't long before she started thrashing in the bed. I held her tightly against my chest, soothing her when she cried out. Reassuring her when she reached into the darkness. We lay like that for hours. As she fought with her inner demons, I thought about what I'd just agreed to.

I'd had no other option, of course. Every alternative path had been blocked off from me. I'd tried protecting her in half measure, being there for her emotionally while letting her explore her physical recovery on her own. I had foolishly tried leaving her to her own ends. Now, I would be her everything. I would make myself responsible for her emotional recuperation and I would be the sole master of her physical recovery as well.

Of course it wasn't fair to her. She'd already developed a fanciful attachment to me. She trusted me because I was the one who'd found out about her situation and put an end to it. She felt gratitude and that, combined with the fantasy about me she'd concocted, had led her to believe that I was the only man she could trust to give her body to.

It ate at me, my unworthiness, the innumerable reasons that she deserved better than me. I looked down at my hands where they rested against her pale skin. Hands that had caused pain and death. I was holding her with arms that had crushed dreams and destroyed lives. Comforting her with the body that had raped and defiled. Soothing her with the voice that had threatened and menaced. I shouldn't be touching her. I shouldn't be anywhere near her. And yet here we were. Put together by a twist of fate that left us inextricably bound together.

Worst, was that I couldn't help the savage thrill that tore through me at the thought of her being mine. I wanted to possess her, body and soul. I wanted her for my own. And now I had her. I wondered if she would ever recover enough to move on. To find someone more worthy to spend her life with. Probably. The human spirit is a remarkable thing. She was already so strong, I could easily imagine her finding her footing in a few months or a year. Deciding she could brave the world. Finding love.

I held her to me tighter, fighting the waves of agony that tore through my chest. Because she was just starting her life. In her journey, I would only be one small stop. For me, she was the destination. She _was _my journey. My alpha and omega. The beginning and the end. Somehow, in the months since she'd walked back into my life, she'd taken it over. I breathed for her, I bled for her. I lived for her and I'd die for her. And since it was what she needed, I would hand her my heart on a silver platter and let her tear it apart. She would have every part of me. And when she was done, I would help her throw me away so she could move on to something better.

I didn't know when I'd fallen in love with her, but I knew it just as surely as I knew that the sun would rise tomorrow. And now that I'd accepted it, there would be no going back for me.

HG

Two days later, she lay sweating and shivering in my arms. Her breath was coming in weak rasps. The withdrawals were wreaking havoc on her body and on her mind. Sometimes she fought off invisible assailants. Sometimes she called out for her mother, sometimes she called out to god. Most of the time she called out for me. I could only hold her tighter and whisper into her ear.

When she woke up that afternoon, I checked her pulse and oxygen saturation levels. They weren't what I wanted, but they were steady. I gave her the focusing potion that was hopefully going to help her mind regain its control. She let me minister to her without comment.

"How did you even survive that much?" I wondered out loud. I just couldn't believe it. After two weeks of taking the potion two or three times a night, her mind should have crumbled to dust. But already she was going through the worst of the withdrawal.

"I'd built up a tolerance for it," she murmured. I hadn't been expecting her to answer, so she caught me off guard.

"What?"

"I already had a substantial tolerance for it before I started taking it after...after that night."

"What do you mean? How?"

"I'd been addicted to it before, though never this badly," she admitted. My breath caught and I stared at her, unable to move or speak. "When I first got my letter, I read every book I could get my hands on. Because they were a relief, a way to escape the world. I read them so many times that I memorized them cover to cover. But once I got to Hogwarts that first year, I probably wouldn't have stayed such a know it all if not for the nightmares. I found that once I no longer had the real devil of my life there to torment me, he came in my dreams. I discovered the Dreamless Sleep draught my second week in the castle. I brewed my first dose of it my third." I didn't have time to appreciate her genius because she went on. "I used it to get through the nights. And when I discovered the dangers of it, I started studying harder to make up for any ill effects it might have. I read every book I could get my hands on so that I could counter the loss of focus and brain activity. I pushed myself harder than anyone because I knew the consequences if I didn't. But I couldn't stop taking it.

"The first week of every summer I went through the withdrawals, but _he _didn't ever notice. No one did. And when school started again, I brewed new batches of it and started studying even harder, convinced I was going to lose my mind to the potion. Then, after the war, I didn't have any reason to keep taking it, because I was living in hell all the time. What are nightmares when you live the reality every day?

"When you brought me here after you found out what was going on, I took the dose you gave me for that night, but no more. It wasn't until...recently that I started taking it again. I couldn't make the dreams stop. I couldn't escape. I didn't know what to do. So I started taking the potion again. Only, one dose no longer lasted me the whole night. I needed several to last eight hours. And because I was taking so much, it didn't matter how much I read or how busy I tried to keep my mind.

"And to be honest...I didn't really care all that much. What use is a mind without a body that functions properly? If I couldn't ever live a full life, why did I want to live at all? It was worth the chance that I might not survive so that I didn't have to relive the nightmares every moment I slept. You are probably the only person in the world who understands the pain, the shame...and if you couldn't want me, then who else would?"

I stared at her, feeling my heart twist for the hundredth time. How much more abuse could the muscle take? Dear spirits how had I driven her to this? I was amazed that she'd been able to properly brew a Dreamless Sleep potion her first year, amazed that she'd been able to focus so much on learning that she'd blocked the side effects of the addiction, amazed that she'd survived going through withdrawals all on her own every year. And after all that survival, all her fighting to live, I had driven her to the point where she felt her life wasn't worthwhile in only a few short weeks. With just a few callous words. My shame, impossibly, deepened. I'd driven her into the arms of numbness because I'd been unable to face the temptation she presented. I could have saved her this pain if only I'd accepted my feelings for her sooner. Or if only I'd been able to resist her allure. If only I wouldn't have kissed her.

She fell back into unconsciousness again before I could say anything. I was grateful, because I had no words left to say.

SSHG

"Do you hate all addiction so much, or is this one particularly bad for you?" Hermoine asked me at the end of the week. She was shivering, but only her forehead was dotted with sweat, as opposed to her entire body. We were making progress. The end was definitely in sight.

"I have...personal reasons for my hatred of the Dreamless Addiction." I didn't elaborate, but I knew she wouldn't let it go at that.

"What happened? Were you addicted?"

"No, not me." I paused, gathering my thoughts. This time she didn't say more, because she knew I would keep going. Somehow in our time together we had come to know each other almost better than we knew ourselves. "My mother started taking Dreamless Sleep after I went to Hogwarts. I guess she decided that I was old enough to fend for myself once my schooling began."

"Oh Severus, I'm so sorry," Hermione murmured. I brushed a kiss on the top of her head, staring blankly at the wall.

"It was a long time ago," I continued with a shrug. "She lasted longer than most. It ate her mind slowly, letting her retain a little of herself until the very end. Then, once she finally succumbed mentally, her body followed quickly. Some people can live for years in a state of Living Death, a condition similar to your mother's. But thankfully she only lasted a week or so like that. Then she was gone."

"I'm so sorry," she said again, snuggling deeper into my arms. I tightened my hold on her, reassuring myself that she was here with me, she was safe and whole. I'd caught it in time and pulled her back from the brink. I don't think she'll ever truly understand the terror I felt when I realized just how far gone to the numbness Hermione had been. Seeing her like that, knowing that she could end up the way my mother had...it wasn't a feeling I would have wished even on my worst enemy.

She turned her face into my chest, seeking warmth and comfort from me, and fell asleep once more.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Warning...lemons ahead ; )**_

SSHG

By the end of the second week, she'd pulled through the worst of the withdrawals. I brought her some paperwork to keep her busy during the day, and she slept peacefully in my arms at night. Three days prior, she had asked me if I was ready to start teaching her. She asked me every night since. I'd told her no each time, needing her to be fully recovered from the effects of the potion before we began a physical relationship.

But that night, two full weeks after she'd entered into my care, she was fully healed and we both knew it.

We ate dinner in my quarters. I hadn't returned to work or even shown my face in the Great Hall since I'd found Hermione that night. Minerva was handling things in the outside world and I was sure she was doing a fine job of it. We would probably have to reemerge from our dream world the next day, but we still had one more night of solitude. And there was much yet to be done.

After dinner, I told Hermione to go take a hot bath. I'd learned in our time together that they relaxed her and often soothed her frayed nerves. She would need all the relaxation she could get for what lie ahead. When she emerged from my bathroom smelling of her jasmine shampoo, I was sitting up in bed reading a book and wearing a t shirt and sleep pants.

I was still slightly uncomfortable with her seeing me so casually dressed, but during her recovery we'd both seen each other at our worst. It bad bonded us and brought a sense of comfort that nothing like it could have. Once you've helped someone nearly unconscious in pain to the bathroom and had to wait for them to finish so they didn't pass out and hurt themselves, and once they have see you in the bathroom because you couldn't close the door in case they needed help, there wasn't much you couldn't face. We had that kind of intimacy now. And we were about to add another level to it.

She was wearing a long t shirt of mine, an annoying habit she'd picked up in our two weeks together. The chit had brought pajamas of her own to wear, but insisted on wearing my shirts to bed instead. I rolled my eyes and grumbled, but to be perfectly honest, it was a thrill for me to see her in them. Ridiculous, but true.

She walked to the bed and slid in next to me, pulling the cover up over herself. I knew what was coming and waited patiently for her to ask her question. It took her longer than it had any other night...mayhap because she knew the answer would be different this night.

"Severus," she finally began. "Are you ready to start teaching me?" I sighed heavily and set my book down on the night stand. Then I turned my upper body so that I was facing her.

"The last of the effects from your addiction have gone. As you appear to be fully healed, we can begin your instruction, if you wish." I waited, making her say that yes, this was what she wanted before I began anything. My traitorous body was already too eager to suit my tastes. This was not about my pleasure, though I was certain to obtain pleasure. It was about her. Teaching her to expect pleasure instead of pain, letting her learn her body in a safe setting.

"Yes, I want to start." Was there a hint of trepidation in her voice? Or had I imagined that?

"Very well then. Lie down." My words were gentle, but I could feel her trembling in the bed. I didn't know whether it was from fear or anticipation. I rolled over onto my left elbow, bracing my right hand above her shoulder and holding myself up over her. "Look at me," I urged softly. She bit her lip and then brought her eyes to mine. "Keep looking at me, Hermione. This will only bring you pleasure, I promise you that. There will be no pain of any kind. If you start to feel fear, all you have to do is voice your concern and we will stop. That's all it takes. One word and we will be done for the night. There's no need to rush. Do you understand?" I waited for her to nod, already afraid she would want to go all the way that night just to prove to herself that she could. But the idea of her hiding her fear from me, silently suffering in emotional pain while I took her...it robbed me of my breath and made me quake.

I gave her another long moment to think about what we were going to do, letting enough time pass that she could back out if she so chose. Of course, she didn't. So I lowered my head to hers and kissed her.

I could feel the tension from her body as I moved my lips against hers. Logically she knew I wouldn't hurt her. She even felt it in her heart. But her body had been conditioned that what happened in a bed between a man and a woman caused nothing but pain and shame. So I kissed her long and languidly. For the first time in a long time, I felt a little like a teenager, 'making out' in bed and waiting for the girl I was with to become aroused enough to do more. After a few moments, Hermione relaxed beneath me and allowed herself to enjoy the kiss. She twined her arms around my neck and pulled me closer. I didn't let her rush the kiss, but I took heart knowing that she wanted more. That her flesh craved mine, despite all that had been done to her.

Ever so slowly, I began to move my hands down her body. She froze when I moved down from caressing her face to her neck. I didn't stop, didn't give her time to over think it. I simply kept caressing her skin, sliding my fingers over every inch of her flesh. I touched every hidden erogenous zone that a horny teenager would overlook. I stroked the soft spot behind her ear, ran the tip of my finger down the lobe, traced the ridge of her clavicle. By the time I'd worked my way down to her breasts, she was boneless beneath me. Rather than go right to cupping their weight as I was sure she thought I might, I traced the undersides of them, let my palms slide along her rib cage, pressed my open hand between them over her heart. All the while I kept kissing her, teasing her lips and stroking her tongue with mine.

I purposely refrained from touching the part she ached me to stroke. Knowing it would heighten her pleasure, I continued to stroke her breasts all around except over their turgid peaks. In moments, she was arching her back unconsciously, trying to seek her pleasure. When I finally allowed my hands to stray there, it was in the lightest of touches. As I did, I settled my weight between her legs. I timed it so that the sudden pressure of me between her thighs was the exact moment I brushed my palms across her nipples. She didn't have time for fear as her body reacted to the long denied touch. She accepted my presence on her body because the pleasure overrode every other thought.

Then I started kissing my way down her neck. I kept my hands on her breasts as I nibbled the long column of her throat, stopping to pay special attention to the crook of her shoulder. Ever so slowly, I moved down, my mouth following the path my hands had taken. Once I'd moved down far enough that my lips were teasing the edge of her breasts through the t shirt, I started sliding my hands lower. I traced every rib bone, made slow circles around her belly button, danced my fingertips across her hipbones. As I teased her breasts again with my mouth, repeating the denial my hands had made, nibbling and kissing everywhere but where she wanted it most, I slid my hands beneath her back, running my palm down the line of her spine, caressing the curve of her hips. She arched to my touch, lifting her breasts to my mouth and her hips to my hands.

Moving ever so slowly, giving her time to stop if she needed, I lowered my mouth to her nipple at the exact moment I slid my hand between her legs. Again, she responded exactly as I'd hoped. The pleasure overrode any trepidation, leaving her wanting more. I closed my mouth around her nipple and sucked through the t shirt. She cried out, her hand fisting in my hair and holding me to her. I massaged her through her knickers, keeping the pressure soft and gentle, enough to make her arch to me with need. When I could feel her getting wet beneath the soft cotton, I lifted my head for a moment and vanished her t shirt and panties.

Her eyes flashed to mine, a moment's panic showing in them before I lowered my mouth to her breast again. I didn't start sucking right away, instead tracing my tongue around the damp tip and driving her to forget her unease, forget everything except for the feel of my tongue against her breast and the desire for more. When all the fear had left her eyes and they darkened with desire, I sucked first one peak and then the other into my mouth, moving my fingers between her legs in time with the movements.

She flinched involuntary at the first touch of my finger to her sex, but didn't tense or draw her legs closed. Moving slowly and methodically, I coated the tip of my index finger in her moisture and stroked it over her clit. Her eyes flew open again and a soft cry escaped her. She looked confused, lost and worried. Not worried I would hurt her, but worried about her body's reaction to my touch. She knew her own anatomy, of course, but I would have been surprised if she'd ever felt true pleasure here before. It must have been intense and almost uncomfortable in its foreignness.

I moved back up, taking her lips with my own and caressing her breasts with my free hand. I didn't move my other hand from between her legs but I didn't touch her any more, either. I let her adjust to the sensation of my fingertip resting against her, waited until I could feel her pulse beating every so lightly in her clit. Feeling the sensitive flesh become engorged with blood and become slickened with her desire. I kissed her deeply and then stroked her again. This time her legs jerked and her body bowed off the bed, but I kept going. I moved my finger to run light circles around her clit, building pleasure but not forcing it. Allowing her to relax into the touch of my hand. Her breath started coming quickly, Her body tensed, sweat dotting her forehead. Her brows drew together in confusion, pleasure and uncertainty warring within her.

"Severus..I..." she panted, biting her lip hard and trying to put into words that feeling which poets have been trying to articulate for centuries.

"Its ok, Hermione. Let go. Just let go." I kept moving my fingers, circling around and around, then sliding over the top. Her body strained, fighting the pleasure, unable to release because she simply didn't know how. A flush spread across her cheeks and chest, her heart hammering. "Let go, Hermione," I whispered. "Come for me." I lowered my voice until it was a silky purr, deep and rich. She gasped, her eyes squeezed shut, and her legs clamped closed around my hand. She shrieked, body arched off the bed and limbs straining. I only stroked over her clit once more, knowing she was too sensitive for anything else. As she came down from her high, I returned my mouth to her breasts, heightening her pleasure and feeling her body jerk in little aftershocks of sensation. Once she was again pliant on the bed, I moved my hands to either side of her head and kissed her lips languidly.

She responded more sweetly than I could have dared dream she would. Her arms wrapped around my neck pulling me closer. She pressed her breasts against my chest, exploring the sensation of the sensitive flesh against the material of my t shirt. Finally, I broke off the kiss and let her regain her breath.

I acknowledged the aching in my cock, the throbbing need for release, and then dismissed it. This night was wholly about Hermione and her needs. Not mine. And I had no desire to frighten her by grinding my erection against her hip.

"Severus, thank you," she whispered softly, a blush painting her cheeks a pretty pink. I wondered at the thought of a woman thanking me for an orgasm, but considering she'd never had one before even at her own hands, I supposed it was to be expected.

"You are welcome," I replied.

"But..." she bit her lip and paused. "We didn't...you know."

"Have sex?" I smirked at her shocked expression. "Not all sexual encounters are about sex, Hermione. The first step is to show you that pleasure exists in such unions, not to rush to the finish line. Why race to the end, when there is so much to enjoy on the ride?" My words were meant to incite pleasure and curiosity, and if her quick breaths were any indication, I succeeded.

"So, there are other things we will do?"

"Potion making isn't the only fine art and subtle science I excel at," I said with one brow lifted. She giggled. Actually giggled. I couldn't help the answering smile that came to my lips. The sight of her, naked in my bed, totally relaxed and giggling, was a balm to my soul. "When you're ready, we will continue your instruction."

"What if I'm ready now?" She sounded almost...cheeky. I quirked my brow again, heartened by her audacity. She'd become emboldened by her orgasm, by her trust and faith in me. She was finally learning the pleasure she was due, and didn't seem ready to let it go yet.

"Well then, Miss Granger, I suppose we can move on to the next lesson if you are so eager." I kissed her again, cock twitching at the thought of what I was about to do. It was an exercise in pure pleasure, a hedonistic delight that had always fascinated and enthralled me, whether I was doing it or having it done to me. I kissed down her throat again, lingered on her breasts, building her steadily upwards. She went more easily this time, her body still sensitive and knowing what to expect. I kissed down her stomach and across her hips, then shifted to settle myself on my stomach between her legs.

She gasped at the new position, her body opened up to my ravenous gaze. I kissed and sucked my way from the back of her knee up to her thigh. Then, I slid my hands under her ass and lifted her hips. I let my fingertips press into the slight hollow at the base of her spine and felt her moan at the pressure. Then I traced my tongue up and over her sex. Every muscle that had just relaxed tightened so quickly that her body almost snapped to attention. I smirked against her, knowing the havoc I was wreaking on her senses.

Then I began my slow assault on her nerve endings, letting the tip of my tongue touch her everywhere, tracing every dip and ridge of her sex. She gasped at each new sensation, writhing beneath me. Once I felt her legs start to tense, I focused all my attention on her clit. I took my time, stroking and teasing it, giving her light little licks alternated with broad strokes with the flat of my tongue. She keened and panted, her hands finding their way to my shoulders and clutching me. When her hips began to rock up to my tongue, I knew she was close. I began to move faster, no longer teasing but focusing on the moves I had learned brought her the most pleasure.

She breathed my name, then started to call it softly over and over again, unable to say anything else as her mind shut off and her body took over. I kept going, kept driving her higher and higher until I heard her let out a short scream and was rewarded by her thighs squeezing around my head. I kept moving my tongue over her, drawing out her release, and quickly slipped my hand between her legs. As she rode out her orgasm, I thrust one finger into her. She adjusted to the new sensation quickly, and I added a second. By the time she stopped calling my name and relaxed her hold on my shoulders, I had three fingers inside her, thrusting gently. She moaned, head lolling on the pillow. I curled my fingers inside her and smirked when she arched off the bed once more.

Slowly, I withdrew my hand and let her relax. She took longer to regain her breath this time, which I took as a good sign. Again, I carefully kept my erection from brushing against her. I didn't want all of my work that night to be washed away by a stray grazing of my cock against her hip. Once she closed her eyes and I felt her drifting off, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. I wanted to stare at her, to memorize every line and curve of her face, but feared betraying my desire. So I stared up at my ceiling, watching the water ebb and flow through the enchanted transparent stones.

Just when I was convinced she'd fallen asleep, she let out a soft sigh and opened her eyes.

"Is it always like that?" she asked quietly.

"Honestly, no. Not for all couples. Some start too soon- boys too eager for climax cheating their lovers out of orgasm- some simply don't believe its possible- women who have been denied pleasure so long they give up hope of being brought to climax. And since half of sex happens up here," I tapped her temple, "once you convince yourself that it _can't _happen, then it won't. And some people are simply with inconsiderate partners who don't take the time."

"How terrible for them," she murmured. I shrugged.

"If they want to change it, then they can. Strong, stable couples can talk it out, address the issue and work to make it right. And less strong couples...its up to them to find someone who _can_ please them. With very few exceptions, nothing is final until death. Its simply a matter of finding the will to move on. To be willing to search for someone who fits them."

"I'm so grateful my first time is with you, then." She stopped abruptly, bit her lip, blushed deeply and clutched the blanket to her chest. "I mean, not my first time, my..." Tears gathered in her eyes. I rolled onto my side, facing her, gritting my teeth in anger at what she'd gone through once more.

"Look at me," I growled. She slowly raised her eyes to mine. "Your first time _will_ be with me. What happened to you does _not _count. That wasn't sex. That was rape. Your sexual experiences begin here, tonight. Nothing that happened before this night counts." I spoke fervently, from the bottom of my heart. I wanted her to understand this point almost more than any other. She couldn't go on thinking that what had been done to her was sex. It wasn't. It was a violent attack. Driven by anger and the need to control, to dominate. Nothing we did together would ever come close to what had been done to her.

"I guess its different."

"You're damn right its different," I snarled. She offered me a tenuous smile and settled back against the pillows.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Sorry the updates have been a bit irregular; I will try to get back to posting a chapter at least every other day ; )**_

HG

I had the feeling that she wanted to go farther that night, but before she could ask, she fell asleep. I was relieved, despite the aching in my groin. I didn't want to rush her, to do everything all at once and overwhelm her.

During the night, she'd curled closer to me as if subconsciously seeking reassurance. When I woke, her head was on my chest and my arms were around her. All in all, I have to admit it was the most pleasant way I'd ever woken up.

The next day, we reappeared in school. Almost immediately, staff went up to her and offered their condolences. She accepted them dazedly, and looked to me for explanation. Once we were seated, I informed her quietly that I'd told the staff her father had died and she took some personal time to recover. I'd explained my own absence by stating we could get more work done if I accompanied her. The disapproving looks on the faces of Minerva, Hagrid and Poppy would have been comical under normal circumstances. I'd heard more than one 'give the poor girl a break,' murmured when I'd informed them. Not that I gave a fuck what they thought.

So Hermione accepted condolences for the death of the father she'd hated, and I acted understanding and sympathetic about the man I'd killed with my own hands. Every time I got angry at the memory of what he'd been doing to her and I felt my hands clench into fists while the rage beat a rhythm in my veins, I would hear in my head the sound of his neck snapping, over and over again like a soothing lullaby for my fury.

We made it through the day without incident. As the hours till nightfall shrank away, my apprehension grew. I knew she would push for sex that night. I worried she wasn't ready. I worried I was too ready. I worried she would push herself too far and cause irreparable damage to her delicate self esteem if she had to stop half way through.

Once we were in my rooms, the air had become thick with tension. Hermione started to remove her clothing and then stopped, heat rising in her cheeks. She sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the pillowcase. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and went over to her, stilling her hand on the pillow. I knelt before her, ran my hand through my hair, and rubbed the back of my neck.

"Hermione, relax. You're so wound up I can feel the stress coming off of you in waves. We don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to. You are in total control of this situation. If you wanted to stop now and never do anything again that would be fine. If you wanted to wait a year and try again, that would be fine. If you want to learn more tonight, then ok, but stop worrying."

"I just...I want to get through this," she said fervently. "I don't want there to be more things to worry about, more things that I have to learn not to fear. I hate my fears. I want to do everything all at once and have done with it, but I know I can't."

"Don't rush yourself, Hermione. You have the rest of your life to figure this out. There's no need to push. Let it happen when and how you want it to." I cupped her jaw and let my thumb feather across her lips. "Everything we do, what and when and how, is up to you. You are wholly in control. _I _am but the teacher. _You_ are the mistress. Even if I am more powerful than any other witch or wizard in the world, you still are more powerful than me in this because I do only what you wish. I am at your command. Your control of the situation is total." I stayed on my knees in front of her, letting my words sink in. It was of the utmost importance that she realize the truth of them. She needed to feel in total control in order to be truly fearless. She'd been stripped of choice, of the right to decide what happened to her own body, for so long. I wanted to give it back to her. I wanted to lay my entire world at her feet and fulfill her every desire. And I wanted to do it _her_ way.

She watched me for a few long moments, as if testing my resolve. I only stared back at her, letting myself become lost in her eyes. Turning myself over to her. Then she let out a soft breath, as if accepting the truth of my words for the first time. Her face filled with a kind of delight I could barely comprehend. She licked her lips and let her hand wander into my hair. She curled her fingers, tightening her hold and pulling my face up to hers. She kissed me, the first full kiss totally driven by her. When she let me go, it was my turn to be breathless and hazy with desire.

"Make love to me," she murmured against my lips. I blinked away the cloud of lust and searched her eyes, making certain she knew what she was doing. She stared back at me, steel in her gaze. Steel...and desire. She wanted me. She knew the pleasure I could bring her and was thirsty for more. Without another word, I captured her lips again and started undressing her.

By the time I had her naked, I'd touched her everywhere, stroked and caressed her until she was aching for more. She attempted to break through my fortress of buttons and failed miserably. We chuckled about it together, a break in the heady mix of lust and anticipation surrounding us. I quickly divested myself of frock coat, vest and dress shirt. Before I could move to take off my t shirt, she pulled it off over my head. I flailed a little, blinded by black cotton. She shifted her weight back to get the shirt clear of my awkwardly lifted arms and lost her balance, falling back on the bed with the t shirt landing on her face. She giggled and I laid my body atop hers, snatching the shirt out of the way so I could capture each of those precious giggles with a kiss. My own dark laughter became lost in the kiss, our amusement turning to arousal at the first feel of naked skin to naked skin. I started the process of driving her to orgasm before I even had my trousers off. I wanted her to climax at least once before I tried to have sex with her.

I managed three before I couldn't wait any longer.

She was breathless and glowing, her body relaxed and soft beneath me. I could feel the slickness of her arousal each time I shifted my hips and my cock brushed against her. Even boneless from release, she still arched up to me, wanting more. I told her how wicked she was, how sinfully sexy I found her. How much I loved the way her body reacted to my touch. I praised her in a thousand little ways that she deserved to be praised. Then I cradled her face between my hands and looked deeply into her eyes. She tried to arch up to me, to rush me, but I held back. I simply watched her, memorizing the feel of her in my arms. The look of desire and satisfaction on her face. Every minute detail about that moment.

"You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen," I murmured to her. "Thank you, for the privilege of showing you pleasure, for the honor of being your first, for the trust you show me by sharing your body with me." I watched her eyes, saw them flare with emotion, felt her body slip into utter relaxation and comfort. She threw her arms around me and kissed me with a passion I'd never felt before. And when she was fully, totally and wholly ready, I slowly started to slide inside of her.

She was slick, her body well prepared for my ingress, accepting me without restraint. I marveled at how tight she was. How hot her body felt. In moments, I was fully inside of her. I kept my eyes on hers, watching for any sign of discomfort. I knew I'd made her body so ready that there wasn't a chance of physical pain, but I stayed hyper alert to the possibility of emotional pain. Fear. Guilt. Anything except pleasure and desire. I pulled back and pushed in once more, my pelvis kissing her clit softly. She gasped and looked up at me with that awed expression. Her body was accepting me, taking what I could give and demanding more. I had no idea what she'd expected, but this obviously wasn't it. Her surprise couldn't have been any more clear if she'd announced it through a megaphone.

I smirked, my lips twisted up in pride and gratitude. Pride with myself for giving her such pleasure and her for her courage. Gratitude for her body's implicit trust in me. Her mind's absolute faith in me. It was heartening and humbling. But aside from all those emotions, I couldn't deny the fiery lust coursing through me as well. I could control it, of course. I wasn't some sex starved lecher who couldn't subdue his urges. I took my time, despite my body's frantic need, making sure to give her every ounce of pleasure I could. She gasped with each thrust, each time I pressed against her clit and rubbed the sensitive spot inside of her at the same time.

The pace I set was slow and languorous, despite the fact that I would have loved nothing more than to pound into her until I found nirvana. I kept her on edge for a long time, varied the pressure of my hips against her, the depth of my thrusts, making her ache so fiercely for release that she begged me to take her harder. It was exactly what I'd been waiting for. _Her_ decision for more. Her wild need making her want more, want hard and deep and rough, without the fear there coloring her vision. When she cried out for more, I finally gave in, holding her hips so I could thrust into her harder and faster, pushing deeply inside of her over and over again until we both exploded in bliss.

Her scream was long and loud, sweet music to my soul. Her nails scored my back and I could only hope she left scars there that I could examine and cherish for years to come. Her legs wrapped around my waist and squeezed as she clenched around me, her body rising higher and higher until she simply couldn't take any more and collapsed. I rained kisses over her forehead and nose, her cheeks and chin. I gently threaded my fingers into her hair and fought the urge to tell her how much I loved her. To tell her that she was my world, my everything, my heart lying vulnerable outside my chest.

Instead, I kissed her lips softly and then smirked down at her. She smiled back at me slowly, then a sparkle came into her gaze.

"Don't look so smug, Professor," she chided with a laugh.

"You know what they say," I returned. "The star pupil is only as good as the teacher. And you, Miss Granger, are certainly a star pupil."

"And you, darling Professor, are incorrigible." She kissed me lightly and then shifted experimentally. We were still intimately joined. I pulled away from her slowly, giving her time to adjust to the new sensation. She moaned low, stretched and then turned to me. "I think you must be right. It can't always be like that for everyone else. If it were, no one would get anything done. Everyone would spend all their time in bed, and the world would fall apart."

"That may be the case, but I firmly believe that if more people were truly sexually satisfied, the world would be a much more pleasant place. I mean, can you imagine going out and robbing or killing when you feel like this?"

"You do have a point," she agreed. "The only thing I want to do right now is snuggle up to you and sleep." She yawned as if to accentuate her point and then curled her body up to mine. I tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed the top of her head. In the darkness, she traced the line of my nose, the curve of my lips. "Did you mean those things you said earlier, Severus?"

"Not all men mean the things they say during sex, Hermione." I didn't want her to believe everything some sex crazed idiot told her in the throes of passion. "But I meant every word I said." I felt her relax once more. She brought one of my hands to her lips and kissed my fingertips.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For sharing your body with me. For having the courage and patience to teach me. For having the compassion to give me the control I needed to relax. For being the kind of man I can trust with my body, my heart and my soul." She kissed my fingertips once more and then pressed my hand to her heart. She pressed her own hand over my own heart.

For long moments, I didn't trust myself to speak. My throat felt tight and my eyes burned. If I didn't know any better I would assume I had whittlewort poisoning. But I knew this wasn't any kind of poison. It was the sweetest ambrosia. It was an expression of love and gratitude from the woman I adored. I kissed her deeply, pouring my emotions, all my love and devotion into the kiss. Then I pressed my forehead against hers and we shared breath until we fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Just a little chunk to get you through till the weekend ; )**_

HG

After that, everything seemed to fall into place. We continued to work together flawlessly during the day. If anything, we became even more efficient, even more in tune with each other. I could anticipate her needs before she voiced them, and she mine. We were a formidable team. And at night, we came together in trust and faith. We shared our bodies and cherished the magic that blossomed between us.

I slowly introduced different aspects of sex to her. I did them one at a time, allowing her to adjust to each experience fully before moving onto another. The second week we were together, I tied a blindfold over her eyes and laid behind her on the bed, thrusting into her softly while she listened to our rapid breaths and focused on the feelings shooting through her body. The next night I put the blindfold on again and added a pair of muggle earphones, blocking out all sound except for soft classical music. Then I took her on her stomach, massaging her back and letting her shut out every sense but touch.

A week after that, I took a silk scarf from her closet and tied her hands with it. I still couldn't bring myself to hold her hands down, but I wanted to introduce her to the idea of restraint in a safe and comfortable manner. The material of the scarf was so light that she could rip it if she wanted to. She could be free in an instant. But she didn't. She stayed tied up while I worshiped her body with my own.

A month later, she convinced me to allow her to try pleasuring me with her mouth. I had serious doubts about it. All I could think about was how I'd seen her the night I'd killed her father, on her knees before him, sobbing while he forced himself into her throat. If I couldn't see past that one time, how could she see past all the times it had been done to her?

Despite my firm insistence that it wasn't necessary, in any relationship, she was determined to try. She said that she wanted to be able to do anything she damn well pleased sexually, and that included fellatio. So I allowed her to sit between my thighs on the bed, studying my erection rather like a puzzle she wanted to solve. If not for the fact that she was blissfully, arousingly, temptingly naked, I was certain I would wilt under the intensity of her scrutiny.

She finally wrapped one hand around me and lowered her mouth until I could feel her soft breath against me. Her tongue came out quickly, swiping over the tip so swiftly that if not for the blistering pleasure that surged through me, I might not have known she'd touched me at all. I clenched my teeth and dug my heels into the mattress to fight my body's natural reaction to her torment. She seemed to enjoy watching me fight the waves of pleasure, because she did it again. I hissed through my teeth, clenched my hands into fists and stayed rigidly still. After that, she seemed to make it her personal  
mission to see me squirm.

She experimented with different strokes of her tongue, different grips with her hand. She gave me soft licks, long sucks, little flicks with her tongue and firm squeezes with her hands. I finally gave in, allowing my body to writhe in pleasure at her ministrations. She took some kind of sympathetic pleasure in my own pleasure, seeming to revel in the way she could bring me to the edge with only a few flicks of her tongue. I warned her each time she got me close, each time I almost lost my grip on my control. She would pull me back from the precipice with a shy smile and continue on.

Just when I was sure she would drive me mad with lust and need, she moved her tongue wickedly across the crown of my cock while her hand stroked the length of me in firm, quick movements. I groaned, gasped that I was about to come, and gave a hoarse cry of relief when she kept going, allowing me to orgasm. She drew her mouth back and continued to move her hand over me as I spent on my stomach, jerking and twitching with the intensity of the climax. When she was certain there was no more pleasure to be wrung from me, she snuggled up under my arm, and the little minx whispered that next time, she was going to try and bring me off with just her mouth- then swallow.

I nearly bit my own tongue off.


	18. Chapter 18

_**We have finally come to the end, my lovely readers. Hopefully this wraps up all our loose ends into a nice big bow of squishy wonderfulness!**_

SS

Before I knew it, a year had gone by. We lived the kind of life I'd always wanted. Work was satisfying and pleasant. Our shared interests made us perfect companions during our free hours. And over time, Hermione became the most uninhibited, selfless, _talented_ lover I'd ever had. There wasn't a single urge either of us had that we couldn't confide in the other and explore together. There wasn't a single thing I could have asked for...except...

I wanted Hermione to love me. I knew she cared for me, she showed me her adoration and respect every waking moment she spent with me. But it wasn't the same. I wanted her love. Undying, unconditional, unending love. I felt that for her. I fought against saying the words each night and each morning. I knew that if I pressed her, I could get her to say the words. But I wanted her to feel them with her whole heart. Not just because I'd saved her. Not residual emotion from a fantasy she'd concocted. But simply for me. I wanted her to see inside my black heart, to study my stained soul, and still decide I was who she loved. Who she wanted to spend her life with.

But how could I tell her that? If I admitted my feelings to her, she would feel bound by obligation to stay with me. She was nothing if not loyal. She would feel that she owed it to me because of what I'd done for her. That, I could not allow. She deserved to be free, to find someone she wanted to be with purely out of the desire of her heart.

Then, one sunny Monday morning, I got exactly what I wanted, with consequences I couldn't have expected.

We were sitting my the Black lake, Hermione throwing bits of shrimp to the giant squid she'd affectionately named Tom. She found it endearing that the beast seemed to loiter over our bedroom while we were busy in bed, and when I'd once called it a Peeping Tom, the nickname stuck.

"Do you believe in marriage?" she asked out of the blue. I froze, the book I'd been reading clutched in a death grip. Keeping my tone deliberately light, I studied her.

"I believe in marriage the same way I believe in sunshine or wool trousers. It exists, despite what anyone thinks of it." She threw a shrimp at me. I arched a brow and kept my face neutral as it hit me between the eyes and fell to the grass. She giggled. "If you're asking me what I think about the institution...I believe that marriage is taken much too lightly these days, but is still a productive and satisfying arrangement between the right parties." I waited with baited breath to see what she would say next.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?"

"Why are you asking me this, Hermione?" I couldn't help asking. I didn't know how to answer with out revealing my hand to her, and I couldn't stop the wild pounding of my heart. She shrugged as if the topic was only of mild interest to her, but I could see by the set of her shoulders it mattered to her.

"I just wondered." I waited, knowing there was more to come. "Its just...we've been together for over a year now, did you know that?" She glanced at me. I nodded.

"I am aware."

"And I'm sure you want to get on with your life, you know? You deserve to find someone that you can marry and maybe have a few babies with." I felt my heart breaking with each word she spoke. This was it. She was leaving me. She said it was me who wanted to get on with my life, but she really mean that _she_ was ready to move on. To find someone to marry and have children with. I fought to keep my voice steady.

"I've never had much interest in babies. I suppose that would be up to my wife to decide if she wanted children." It was the only thing I could think of to say.

"You don't want kids?"

"I am ambivalent to the idea."

"Oh." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, squinting out across the water. "Well, I just think that there isn't any more to teach me, right? I've moved past any fears or insecurities I had when we started this. And I've kept you captive for too long. You deserve to find someone you really want to be with."

"I have never been unhappy with our situation," I gritted out. She looked at me, surprised.

"But have you ever been truly happy?"

"What do you mean?"

"It just seems...I don't know, as if you're missing something. Like you're looking for something else. Something that I can't give you." She searched my face, unable to know just how close to the mark her words truly were. But she _could _give me what I was looking for. She was the only one I wanted it from. If only I could make her love me...

"You have never been less than I wanted," I answered honestly.

"Would you ever want to marry me?" Her whispered words hit me like a boot to the stomach. She studied her hands, the grass, anything but my eyes. I drew in a sharp breath, unable to believe what she'd just said. Could this possibly mean...? Wild hope sprang up in my chest, a twin vine to the one she'd planted within me so long ago the night she'd accepted my past and forgiven me for it. But I crushed it down. She'd never spoken of love. She'd never mentioned her own happiness. Only mine. There was no reason for me to believe that she loved me, or even if she would say those blessed words, for me to know that she truly meant them. She'd seen so little of the world, so little of men. My stomach clenched against the pain.

"No." My word was as final and emotionless as I felt. This discussion could only end one way. What hope could there be.

"Oh," she said softly. The look of pain on her face would have taken me to my knees if I'd been standing. It passed like ice through my veins, twisting my heart into knots. I couldn't leave it at that.

"Not because I don't want you," I said softly, placing my finger under her chin and tipping her face up to mine. "But because it would be unfair to tie someone like you to my side forever."

"How can you say that?!"

"Hermione, you are so young. You have seen so little of the world. I'm the only man you've ever been with. You couldn't honestly want to be bound to me forever. And I would never tie you to my side out of some misplaced sense of obligation on your part. Without love, marriage is only a contract."

"But..." Her voice caught as tears filled her eyes. "But I love you," she whispered. I stared, dumbstruck. How had those words just left her beautiful lips? How had I just heard them from her? How could they be true?

"No," I gasped. I shook my head. "No. That's not possible."

"What? Why?"

"You feel gratitude and respect, maybe even affection, but you can't love me."

"You can't stop me, Headmaster. I love you, no matter what you say about it." She glared at me. I shook my head again.

"Listen, Hermione, you don't know what you're saying." I fought desperately against accepting her words. Because as soon as I allowed them to take root in my heart, I would never let her go. I would bind her to me in every way recognized by man and god and keep her by my side for the rest of eternity. "You are confused. You've never been with anyone else, so you have no way of differentiating between friendly affection and romantic love." Her glare intensified. She sat up, put her hands on her hips and started to speak. Then she stopped, her glare wilting and her fire extinguishing.

"If you can't love me back, Severus, just say so. But don't try to tell me what I do and don't feel."

"Can't love you?" I flinched away from even the words. "Hermione don't you realize..." I fell silent, warring with myself if I should tell her how I felt. "Anyone would be stupid not to love you. Not to utterly adore you. Not to want to dedicate their life to making you smile."

"And you are far from stupid..." Her grin spread across her face and lit up the sky brighter than the noonday sun.

"It doesn't change anything. What I feel is inconsequential. Hermione you are too young and inexperienced to decide that you want to spend your life with someone."

"Oh, I am, am I? What else about me do you find lacking? My emotional maturity? My choice of career? Obviously my decisions and lack of sexual partners discount me from serious consideration from you." She pushed to her feet angrily. "Don't hide behind my age, Severus Snape. Don't even try. You can't hide from me. _I see you_. I've always seen you. If you want to reject me, then do it. But you and I both know that I'm the only one who can decide if I'm ready to love, ready to commit."

"I'm not rejecting you!" I said in exasperation.

"Then tell me you love me!"

"I love you!" I roared. "I love every blasted thing about you! I love every bushy hair on your godforsaken, perfect head! I love the way you move, the way to speak, I love every word that falls from your lips simply because they came from you! I love you!"

She stared at me for a moment, both of us watching the other, chests heaving. Then, in a split second, she launched herself at me. She flew into my arms, holding me close, pressing her chest tight to mine as if she could make our very hearts touch. A soft sob shook her.

"I love you too," she said brokenly. "I've been in love with for so long. I just want to stay with you. But I was so worried that you were only staying with me because you felt obligated to. Like you had to after all you'd done for me. And I couldn't bear to keep you at my side any longer if you didn't love me."

"How could I not love you, Hermione? You are everything I could have ever wished for in a partner. If the creator himself had fashioned a woman just for me, perfect in every way, she still couldn't hold a candle to you. You make my world complete. You are the light in my soul. The refuge for my heart. My everything."

"Then marry me. Make me yours forever. Never let me go."

I pulled back and stared into her eyes. I watched as every emotion I'd ever prayed for crossed her face. I saw the love written on her every feature, saw it shining in her eyes. Felt my soul bind itself inextricably to hers.

"I can't," I forced myself to say. "We can never be together, Miss Granger."

Or at least, that's what I would have said if I was a stark, raving lunatic. Because only an utter fool would look everything he'd ever wanted in the eye and turn it down. Selfish or not, right or not, proper or not, I could not let her go. I needed her more than the very air that I breathe.

I traced her lips with my fingertips, memorizing this moment. Burning it into my mind for all time.

"Yes," I said softly, that hope taking root so deeply within me it would never die. "Yes. Marry me. Be mine. Stay by my side forever." She laughed in joy and clung to me. We kissed, pouring every emotion we felt into the meeting of our lips. Knowing that from that point forward, life would never be the same again.

SSHG

And it hasn't been. We got married on a quiet day the next summer. The wedding took pace in front of the black lake, right where we'd first confessed our love to each other. I grudgingly accepted handshakes and congratulations from Potter and Weasely. Hermione looked stunning in her white gown and emerald jewelry.

We settled back into life much the way we had been living for the year before, except that every time I wanted to tell her I loved her, rather than fight it back and deny myself,I would pull her to me and confess every ounce of my adoration for her.

A few years later, the little chit decided that she wanted babies. _Babies._ With the dirty diapers and constant feeding and the crying.

But they're cute little blighters, and I can't help but love them.

My life has never been so complete. I have never felt this kind of peace. I never expected I would. Somewhere along the dark path of my early life, I lost hope that I could ever have the type of happiness I now enjoy every day. I think maybe Hermione did too. And separate, we might never have had a shot at bliss. Only together could we truly find paradise. Its an antiquated notion, but I honestly believe she is my soul mate. I accept the silly, romantic notion because there is no other explanation for it.

Mrs. Granger never woke up from her coma, and passed away a few years ago. I know Hermione grieved for the mother she never really got to know, but I was grateful that she never had to learn what happened to her daughter. Having become a parent myself, I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have been like for Mrs. Granger to awake and find out what her husband had been doing to her child. I have always seen it as a kind of blessing that she never had to learn. Of course, Hermione believes that some part of her mother was still there, inside the comatose body. If that was the case, I can only pray that she never understood what the sounds coming from her daughter's room meant. That she believed Hermione's tales about the life we shared together. And in a way, Mrs. Granger was the very first person to find out about Hermione and I. I suppose that's the way it should be. I can't thank the circumstances that drew us together, but I have to be grateful to whatever spirits guided us, because the place we have come to is my own little slice of heaven.

_****Sigh** It came faster than I'd like, but I'm glad they got to this ending. What did you all think?**_


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